


Красавица и чудовище (Beauty and the Beast)

by NyuuHime



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Otabek Altin, Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Bisexual Otabek Altin, Christophe Giacometti & Victor Nikiforov Are Best Friends, Chubby Katsuki Yuuri, Developing Relationship, Drunk Victor Nikiforov, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, First Dates, Jean-Jacques Leroy Being an Asshole, Katsuki Yuuri Missing a Tooth, Katsuki Yuuri and Victor Nikiforov are Yuri Plisetsky's Parents, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Matchmaker Phichit Chulanont, Mild Language, Protective Otabek Altin, Tall Otabek Altin, Tickle Fights, Victor Nikiforov is Extra, Wingman Phichit Chulanont, Yuri Plisetsky is a Brat, otayuri - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-02-17 18:03:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13082313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyuuHime/pseuds/NyuuHime
Summary: "If he could learn to love another, and earn their love in return before his time ran out, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time.  As the years passed, he fell into despair, and lost all hope, for who could ever learn to love a beast?"Otabek Altin is the cruel, unsympathetic captain of the international hockey team in Hasetsu. Yuri Plisetsky is a self-absorbed figure skater from Moscow. When fate brings these two together, can they save one another from themselves?***Beauty and the Beast AU***





	1. Prologue

_"Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle._

_Although he had everything his heart desired, the prince was cruel, selfish, and unkind. He was a harsh master to his many servants, working them day in and day out with little respite. His subjects lived in desolation, with no compassion from their ruler._

_But then, one winter, the prince fell in love with a beautiful young maiden. He offered to give her everything her heart desired if she would take his hand in marriage. But she rejected his proposition, repulsed by his malice. The prince tried to apologize, but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart, and as punishment, she transformed him into a hideous beast, and placed a powerful spell on the castle, and all who lived there, leaving the once-prosperous kingdom in ruins._

_Ashamed of his monstrous form, the beast concealed himself inside his castle, with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world. His days were numbered, however, as the day of his reckoning was fast approaching. If he could learn to love another, and earn their love in return before his time ran out, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time.  As the years passed, he fell into despair, and lost all hope, for who could ever learn to love a beast?"_

The boy narrating the story finished with a dramatic pose on the sidewalk, earning a few bewildered glances from passersby. His three teammates, who had joined him on the walk back to the inn, applauded his performance. “Bravo, bravo!”

“What do you guys think?” he asked enthusiastically, a little out of breath from his performance. “Constructive criticism is encouraged.”

“It’s a good start, Phichit, but that doesn’t really sound like Beauty and the Beast to me,” said Leo. “I mean, it does but it doesn’t, y’know? There’s no rose, no old witch, no actual time crunch like there was in the original story.”

Phichit rubbed his hands together to warm them. “It’s an adaptation, Leo, I can’t just rip off the story word-for-word. Think of it as Beauty and the Beast meets modern day meets the team. I just – ahem – _borrowed_ the opening. For inspiration, you know.”

“I’m confused,” said Guang-Hong. “Is Captain Otabek the prince in this story?”

“What tipped you off, the cruel part or the ‘harsh master’ part?” laughed Phichit, his breath visible in the frigid air. When all he got in response was a blank look from Guang-Hong, Phichit sighed and nodded. “Yes, Otabek is the beast. And his magic mirror into the outside world is his smartphone. I mean, all he does is practice and work out, but he also checks Instagram.” He couldn’t help but giggle to himself at his own joke.

Guang-Hong, missing the joke, tipped his earmuffed head. “But I thought that it was supposed to be an old witch that curses the prince and turns him into a beast.”

“Well, I tried to make it as close to the real story as possible while keeping as many original concepts as I reasonably could,” said Phichit. He pushed the crosswalk button and the four hockey players stood shivering in the early November cold, waiting for their signal. “I wouldn’t call Otabek’s ex-girlfriend an old witch, would you? It made more sense to me to make her a beautiful maiden. Besides, I think I got the ‘no love in his heart’ part right. That’s basically the reason she broke up with him.”

Seung-Gil shook his head. “Even so, Otabek didn’t propose to her or anything. Where did that come from?” The crossing signal changed, and they shuffled across the street shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Seung-Gil, it’s not going to be an _exact_ retelling of the events,” retorted Phichit. “I added that to spice things up a little! Raise the stakes!”

They all got a good laugh out of that. “You have an overactive imagination, Phichit,” said Leo, playfully slapping his teammate’s back. “I love your ridiculous stories.”

When the laughter died down, an uncomfortable silence hung in the air around the four athletes. “There is truth to my story though,” said Phichit dejectedly. “Otabek has been in awful spirits since they broke up, his heart just hasn’t been in it. We haven’t won a single game since.”

“Not to mention the drills,” said Guang-Hong, wincing as he thought about all the agility drills they had done as punishment for losing the last game. “It’s like he’s taking it out on the rest of us, and it wasn’t even our fault! My ankles are going to be so sore tomorrow, I don’t know how well I’m going to do in the game next week. And that’s even if he lets me play this time!”

“While we’re airing our grievances, am I the only one who thinks it’s incredibly unfair that he doesn’t stay behind to clean up after practice?” piped up Seung-Gil. “He makes just as much mess as we do, I think he should have to do his share. We all want to get back and enjoy our free time, what makes him so special?”

“He’s depressed, Seung-Gil. Not that that’s an excuse, but he’s clearly not well and taking it out on the rest of the team,” said Leo. “There’s gotta be a princess out there who wants to sweep him off his feet and get him out of this awful state.”

“Or prince,” added Phichit.

“Right, or prince,” corrected Leo. “I bet he’d be in a much better mood if he had someone he could be affectionate with.” He chuckled to himself. “Maybe we should set him up on a blind date.”

Seung-Gil snorted. “Yeah, he has such an alluring personality, I’m sure we could find someone willing to put up with him and turn him back into a prince. He could totally turn it around in time for the playoffs if we even make it that far.”

Leo shoved him lightheartedly. “Hey, if the Beast could find love, then maybe there’s hope for our beastly captain.”

The boys reached the inn and ambled into the lobby, peeling off their hats and gloves and fumbling their room keys out of their pockets. Phichit got his first and turned to the hallway where his and Seung-Gil’s room was located. “I’m going to go change and hit up the hot spring. Anybody in?” The other boys voiced their agreement, Guang-Hong mumbling something about the hot water being good for his sore feet. Phichit wandered down the hallway, ideas for his story still tumbling around in his mind.

As if on cue, Otabek emerged from his room and addressed his teammate with a stony, expressionless gaze. His black hair and eyes certainly reminded Phichit of a beastly, shadowy prince, the former messy from practice and the latter accentuated with dark circles from exhaustion. He seemed a little paler than normal – was he taking care of himself? Phichit, not one to be intimidated, smiled.

“Good evening, Captain,” he said pleasantly. “Getting ready to go to the hot spring? I’m heading there, myself.” Otabek said nothing, pushing his way past Phichit with no regard to his teammate speaking to him. A few other team members, making their way to their own rooms, greeted him much more fearfully if they weren’t too afraid to speak at all. Otabek sauntered to the end of the hallway and paused – the athletes held their breath.

“Get plenty of rest tonight,” he announced, his booming voice practically echoing off the walls. “We’re getting up to go for a team run. Meet in the lobby at 5:15. This is mandatory – anyone who is not present will owe me extra drills before practice at 9 o’clock.” Groans scattered through the hallway, immediately silenced by a steely gaze from their captain. “And if anyone takes issue, you will _not_ be playing in the next game. Understood?”

“Yes, Captain!” Everyone was stiff with fear now. Once Otabek was out of earshot, the collective sigh of relief from all of them was palpable, as if the air itself were releasing its tension. The boys grumbled to themselves, complaining of sore muscles and exhaustion. Phichit only shook his head.

 _Someone needs to save him from himself,_ he thought. _He’s killing himself and hurting the team by harboring so much vitriol. His princess – or prince – definitely needs to be patient, caring, affectionate…all the things he doesn’t get enough of right now._ As he entertained this thought, he could hear Otabek reprimanding friends who were still in the lobby for being the last ones to arrive and missing the announcement. _He won’t last much longer if he keeps this up. Whoever this saintly person is, I hope they get here soon._


	2. Belle

Yuri Plisetsky stared out the taxi window, watching the raindrops streak across the glass. _Another day in paradise,_ he thought bitterly. The rainy, gloomy fall in Tokyo was vastly different from the already-white, freezing late autumn of Moscow to which he was accustomed. He supposed it didn’t really matter what the weather was like – he wasn’t a ski jumper or anything – but skating just didn’t quite feel right with no snow on the ground. There had been a veritable blizzard on the evening he won his final cup as a youth skater and there was no feeling more satisfying than celebrating with his coach in the falling snow. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be able to experience this until it was time to compete somewhere cold again - Tokyo wasn't exactly famed for its white winters.

This was Yuri’s first week with his new figure skating team, an international young adults’ team for skaters aspiring to compete in the global circuit under world-class coaches. At first, he was honored to have been accepted into this team right as he turned 18 – most skaters weren’t accepted their first time around and had to wait until they were in their twenties. However, because he was so young they decided that he needed to wait at least one year before being allowed to enter any competitions, giving him a little extra experience with the coaching team. Now, after one week with this group, he was bored. There was always competition with his youth team in Russia because there were only a few spots available in each age group, and having to vie for his spot with other similarly-skilled skaters brought out the best in him. Now it felt that he had reached a peak that the other skaters in this new group would never be able to achieve – there was no chance for Yuri to have a (maybe not so friendly) rivalry with someone. Maybe he was smug for thinking so, but he didn’t care. He went from feeling like a small fish in a reasonably large pond to feeling like a big fish in a puddle and now he was resigned to boredom until the next season officially started.

The taxi pulled up to the front doors of the ice rink. Yuri thanked the driver and paid his fare, pulling his team windbreaker over his head to protect his hair from the rain. He rushed out of the cab and into the main foyer, shivering and shaking the moisture off himself once inside.

He inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of rubber matting and disinfectant. He even caught a whiff of hairspray – was someone experimenting with a new potential hairstyle for their routine? He grinned to himself. _Even in another country, figure skaters are still figure skaters and an ice rink is still an ice rink._ He held his ponytailed head high and marched himself toward the locker rooms, nodding at teammates and coaches that greeted him.

“Good morning, Yuri!” Yuri winced visibly and turned toward the loud voice that assaulted his eardrums, the voice belonging to Mila Babicheva. “I trust you slept well, yes?”

“Yes, fine,” he answered curtly. _Figures that some of my old rink-mates had to follow me here,_ he thought, conveniently glossing over the fact that Mila had been accepted into this program long before he was even old enough to apply.

“You’re so grouchy, Yuri,” said Mila, flicking his blond ponytail. “Lighten up, you’ve got plenty of time before your next competition season starts. You’ll be able to work on those quads for a while!”

Yuri batted her hands away, staring daggers at her when she smirked. _As if I need the extra time. My quads are flawless, thank you._

Mila clutched the hand Yuri had slapped and looked at him with mock-surprise. “How mean! I guess you haven’t really changed since we skated together in Moscow, hm?” She winked at him and left to attend to her own needs. Yuri shook his head. _Ridiculous old hag._

He walked into the locker room and was bombarded by welcoming words from more teammates. “Good morning, Yuri!” said a tall young man with light brown hair. Yuri paused for a second, unable to recall the young man’s name. Instead of attempting to greet him back he just scoffed, annoyed at being spoken to so informally by a perfect stranger, and made his way over to an unoccupied section of lockers opposite where everyone was. He wanted to be alone to get ready for practice.

“Don’t feel bad, Emil,” said a voice, presumably the one who had been getting ready next to Emil. “He hasn’t said so much as two words to me since he’s been here.”

“I don’t understand, Mickey,” said Emil. “What’s his deal? We’ve all tried to be friendly to him and he won’t budge.”

Yuri wondered if they realized that he could still hear them. He dropped his duffel bag on the floor and fiddled with the door of his locker, making it a point to be as noisy as possible to see if they would notice. They did not.

“He seems really arrogant,” scoffed Mickey. “Probably thinks he’s better than everyone else.” _I don’t think that, I know that._ “Doesn’t help that he’s skating in this program as one of the youngest competitors.”

“I mean, he _is_ really good, especially since he’s so young. But would it kill him to lighten up a little?”

“I know him from when I was competing in a smaller circuit back in Russia,” said a new voice, and a familiar one at that: Georgi Popovich. “He’s always been aloof, never really connected with any of his fellow skaters. I don’t think he ever had any close friends on the team.” _Says the sore loser. How many times have I stood above you on the podium, hm Georgi?_

“Hell, with his cred he doesn’t even need friends in this circuit,” laughed Mickey. Yuri chuckled to himself, agreeing with his teammate for once.

The door separating the locker area and the toilets flew open, allowing the already-present stench of hairspray and cologne to permeate the air. Flip-flops slapped against heels as the smell grew closer, burning Yuri’s nostrils. “What’s this I hear about the new guy?” came a booming voice.

Yuri cringed. Jean-Jacques Leroy was easily his least favorite skater in this program. Not only did he give Yuri a run for his money in cockiness, but he never seemed to take the hint when Yuri spurned his advances for friendship. Yuri felt that he could insult JJ and his ancestors one moment and JJ would still invite him to breakfast the next.

“Ah, it’s just Plisetsky,” said Mickey. “We’re not too sure how well he’s gonna fit in here.”

“Come now, gentlemen,” said JJ, the wet thump of his towel hitting the floor echoing across the room. _Dear god no, please tell me he’s not naked right now._ “As veterans of this group, we need to be welcoming to our new cohorts!”

“We’re trying!” said Emil. “It’s not that we don’t want him to feel welcome, he just isn’t warming up to us.”

“I’m telling you guys, you’re wasting your time,” said Georgi. “You’d have an easier time making friends with a brick wall.”

JJ gave a confident little _heh._ “Well then, we’ll just have to keep trying! Let’s make the boy feel like he’s one of us!”

Yuri snorted. _The very idea of me being one of you is laughable. I’m on a much higher level._ He bent down to take his skates out of his bag and nearly had a heart attack when he stood back up and saw JJ three inches from his face. Yuri thanked his lucky stars that JJ was at least wearing warmup pants, even if he was shirtless.

“Yuri, there you are!” he flashed a brilliant smile. “Ready to work hard today?” Yuri only gave him a muted _hm_ and turned his back to put away his duffel bag. JJ smirked and poked Yuri in the ribs. “Hellooooo? Anybody in there?”

Yuri yelped and whirled around to look JJ in the eye, giving him the meanest possible look he could muster. “Can I help you?”

“Just trying to be friendly, Yuri dear,” said JJ. His demeanor hadn’t changed – almost like he didn’t notice Yuri’s fiery glare or the venom in his words. “We’re going to be spending a lot of time together over these next few months, and I know you haven’t exactly gotten off on the right foot with, well, most of the team.” Nervous laughter scattered among the young men in the locker room. “Nevertheless, I think we should start over.” JJ extended a broad hand to Yuri. “Jean-Jacques Leroy, Canada. Nice to meet you, mister…?”

Yuri slammed his locker shut. “Plisetsky. Yuri Plisetsky. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said icily. Without so much as an acknowledgement of JJ’s outstretched hand, Yuri stormed out of the locker room with his skates dangling from one hand. He didn’t stick around to hear them talk about him afterward. He was far too busy for such nonsense.

He stormed around the perimeter of the ice, shoving past anyone that dared get in his way. _Damn that Jean-Jacques Leroy, who does he think he is? I am_ not _here to make friends. I’m here to work._

Still seething, Yuri dipped into the hallway where the coaches’ offices were located. He navigated the labyrinth-like passage, listening for the familiar sound of classical music. His favorite coach always had something playing if he was in his office. He stopped outside of a particular office, listening to the swelling orchestral music echoing from the room. Yuri knocked on the open door.

A stout Russian man swiveled his chair around. “Ah, Yuri, I’m glad you’re here.” He gestured to the computer playing the music. “I know it’s early, but I’m sorting through music for your short program. I’m thinking about having at least one piece by a Russian composer.”

Yuri grinned. He had known Yakov since he began skating at three years old and worked under his tutelage in the youth circuit until Yakov accepted this job when Yuri was 15. He was also the one who encouraged Yuri to apply to the young adults’ team and even provided him a good recommendation. He understood Yuri in a way that most coaches didn’t. Yakov was the one person in the entire world whose personality didn’t clash with Yuri’s – they fed off each other’s stubborn energy. This, according to Yuri, was the one of the keys to his success as a skater.

Yuri sat on the desk next to the monitor, listening to the calm, yet somehow powerful music. “I don’t know about this one, it’s a little too slow for my taste. Do we have anything a little more upbeat?”

“I’m sure we do, but I think it would be good for you to broaden your horizons with some more subdued music.” Yakov opened a different browser tab where he had been watching one of Yuri’s previous skates, set to Allegro Appasionato. “You can’t just be a one-trick pony. I think this Shostakovich piece will be good for you. There’s a big finish, so it would make a nice short program.”

"Does it have to be _this_ subdued?! I’m gonna put people to sleep with this one, I can’t use this piece!”

“You’ll do this one if I say so!” snapped Yakov. Both men tried to keep a straight face, staring each other down, but they couldn’t keep up the act and eventually broke down laughing. “I kid, I kid. I agree, Yuri Plisetsky still needs something fiery. We’ll put a pin in this one, though, and I’ll dig through the archives and find some pieces to consider for your free skate.” He logged off and took out his clipboard. “Alright, Yurochka, let’s get warmed up.”

Yuri followed Yakov into the main rink area, smirking to himself as some of the other skaters looked on with envy. _That’s right, the great Yakov Feltsman is helping the new kid. Jealous?_ Yakov laid out a yoga mat and pointed at a foam box in the corner, which Yuri obediently retrieved. He began with single leg box jumps, ten reps on each side. He then performed some ankle jumps, V-jumps, and double- unders with the jump rope. After a few more dynamic warmups, he sat on the yoga mat and started stretching.

“Excuse me, Yakov?” One of the female skaters approached them. “I wanted to talk to you about my free skate program. I’d like to go ahead and-,”

“Yes yes, I’ll get to you later,” said Yakov with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m busy right now.” He pressed down on Yuri’s back during a V-stretch to help loosen his hip adductors even further. “Good range, Yuri, don’t hold your breath. Exhale when you stretch further.” The skater who had approached them gave a little huff, turning on her heel and stalking away.

Yakov took Yuri through the series of stretches, then instructed him to put his skates on. “I’ll be right back, I have to attend to that other student.” He rolled his eyes a little. “Go ahead and start with some forward and backward crossovers on the ice if I’m not back by the time you get them on.”

Yuri walked over to a bench and began lacing up his skates. _So needy, they are,_ he mused. _It’s a shame I don’t have Yakov all to myself._

“Ah, Yuri!” Yuri flinched and groaned to himself. JJ approached with swagger, something that irked Yuri in a way he couldn’t explain. This time he was accompanied by Emil and Mickey, who didn’t seem quite as keen to make friends with the standoffish new kid. “I was just thinking about you, my friend! Would you like to run though some drills with us on the ice?”

“No thank you, Jean-Jacques,” said Yuri, trying to avoid making eye contact.

He waved his hand. “Please, call me JJ! Much easier to say, wouldn’t you agree?” Still ignoring Yuri’s palpable disdain for him, he put an arm around the smaller lad’s shoulder. “I’m sorry if I upset you in the locker room earlier, I just want us to bond as teammates!”

Yuri had no words, all he could do was scowl and try to scare JJ off with his body language. He honestly couldn’t tell if JJ was purposefully ignoring his obvious physical signals or if he was just that clueless. Mickey and Emil were visibly uncomfortable watching the situation unfold.

“JJ,” spat Yuri. “I’m a little busy here, in case you couldn’t tell.”

“Yeah JJ, leave him alone,” said Mickey. “We all have work to do.” Emil nodded furiously, clearly uneasy about the whole scene.

JJ gave a small _hmph._ “Very well then, I won’t bother you! I’ll talk to you after practice! Perhaps the four of us can all grab lunch together!” He turned and sauntered away with Mickey and Emil in tow, both sighing in relief that it was over. Yuri scoffed and finished lacing up his skates, wobbling slightly when he stood up and teetered over to the ice. He didn’t have time to be angry now – it was time to turn on his focus.

Yuri wasn’t the type to feel self-conscious. Everything he did, he performed with the utmost confidence and poise. He’d decided long ago that this was the key to his success on the ice – always have the attitude of a winner and the victory would follow. He was already self-assured off the ice, but there was no describing how he felt on the ice.

As his skates hit the slippery surface, everything he was just concerned with seemed to disappear. He forgot all about JJ and Mila and the others and could just focus on the feeling of his skates gliding across the ice. He started the crossover drills Yakov had assigned to him, the music from earlier playing in his head. There was some charm to it, he’d decided. As his body moved with the flow of the piece, it was as if everyone around him had disappeared. There was only Yuri and the ice. The blades on his skates barely made any noise as he moved. He wove around other skaters as if they weren’t even there, not once breaking his stride.

This is what Yuri loved about figure skating, being able to get lost and get to know himself. He didn’t need anyone else while he was performing. He was part of a team, yes, but figure skating was ultimately an individual sport and that was exactly how he liked it.

Once he finished his drills, he snapped out of his trance and saw Yakov waving him over. Happily, he skated over and began going over the day’s practice, eager to learn and better himself.

 _I don’t need friends here,_ he thought pensively. _I don’t need to rely on anyone else besides myself. I’m all I need._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I didn't add any chapter notes last time, but there were a few things I wanted to add to this one. 
> 
> First of all, [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mEjcwoQHxgY) is a link to the piece that Yakov was playing for Yuri in this chapter:
> 
> Second of all, I have a [Tumblr](http://nyuuhime.tumblr.com/) page. Drop by and say hello!
> 
> **This chapter contains an edit! I changed the time to be around November instead of January!**


	3. No Matter What/Me

_Huh? Oh yeah, that’s right,_ thought Yuri, slightly taken aback by Yakov’s closed office door. He was so used to coming straight to the office before practice that he had forgotten the text message he’d received the night before.

**going to a conference this week, work on the choreography we discussed friday. look through the playlist i emailed you and pick a few pieces you like. no jumps until wednesday, work on some shoot-the-ducks, crossovers, spread eagles, things like that (i know you’ve been slacking on the basics). ask celestino if you need any help.**

Yuri snorted, having no intention of asking another coach for help. It was Yakov or nobody. Yuri knew he was, shall we say, difficult to work with at times – none of the other coaches understood this better than Yakov. “You skate your best when your personality is unhindered,” he would always say. “You wouldn’t be where you are today if someone had put a damper on that.” And Celestino was a hindrance, unable to connect with Yuri’s fiery disposition and coax out his potential as a skater.

He shrugged and made his way back out to the ice rink. Instead of tracking down Celestino, he decided he would conduct his own practice today. It was Monday morning, so everyone was trying to work off their weekend shenanigans – overindulging on food and alcohol, enjoying the sights of Tokyo, and other such tomfoolery that did not interest Yuri. _Hm, the ice is too crowded today,_ he thought. It looked like it would be a while before he’d be able to rehearse in peace. _What to do…_

“Are you gonna be okay?” asked Emil. “You could barely walk after practice last night!” Yuri ducked behind a nearby post the second he saw JJ and his entourage coming out of the locker room.

JJ scoffed. “That was nothing! I feel great today, ready to put in even more work!” He jumped onto a nearby bench a took a big dramatic bow. “Nothing can stop King JJ!”

_Practicing jumps on a Sunday night? What’s with this guy?_ Yuri was a little peeved – working in extra practices on the weekends was his thing. _Damn JJ, trying to steal my thunder._ Yuri could at least take comfort in the fact that he had practiced jumps Sunday morning. _I was here first yesterday, so you’re copying me._

“You’re pretty amazing,” said Mickey. “That kind of jumping practice would put anyone else on crutches!”

“Ha! I don’t have time to fool with setbacks! I don’t even know the meaning of the word ‘tired!’”

_Sheesh, this guy loves himself,_ thought Yuri, shaking his head. In the last two weeks or so, JJ had been relentless in his pursuit of Yuri’s friendship. He was like an itch Yuri couldn’t get rid of – the more he “scratched,” the worse it came back. Yuri had all but physically assaulted him to try and scare him off, to no avail.  

“Deep in thought, Yuri?”

Yuri gave a rather unmanly shriek and clutched his chest. While he wasn’t looking, JJ had appeared in front of him yet again. _How the hell does he keep doing that?!_

“Scared you, did I?” JJ chuckled.

“I’m gonna need you to stop doing that,” said Yuri, gasping for air. His heart was still pounding.

JJ smirked and tapped Yuri’s nose with his index finger. “Heh, you’re so cute Yurochka.”

“No,” snapped Yuri, slapping away JJ’s hand. “Only family and close friends can call me that.”

“Aww, but aren’t we close?” JJ put on a fake pout – Yuri could tell it was fake. Nothing JJ ever did felt genuine. “I thought we were starting to become friends.”

“Jeez, Plisetsky, you’re so stingy,” remarked Mickey. “He’s not confessing to you or anything, chill out.” Yuri’s blood started to boil. Telling Yuri to calm down – or any equivalent – was the easiest way to ensure that he would do the exact opposite.

“H-Hey, maybe we should drop the subject,” said Emil anxiously, eyeing Yuri’s death glare at Mickey. “Yuri’s not in the mood right now, JJ, let’s just leave him be.” _Hm, at least one of you three has some sense._

JJ dropped the pouty façade. “Well, even if you don’t want to be friends right _now,_ we could at least practice jumps together, yes? After all, since Yakov is gone…”

“Thank you for the offer,” said Yuri with thinly-veiled contempt. “But I have other plans for my practice today. I’ll be working alone until Yakov comes back.”

The older skaters’ faces all seemed to drop at the same time, eyes suddenly shifting away to avoid contact with Yuri’s. They shared an uneasy look. Yuri raised an eyebrow. “What’s with you three all of a sudden?”

“O-Oh, it’s er…” Emil fidgeted with his hands, seemingly unable to find the words he was looking for.”

“It’s nothing,” said JJ abruptly. “See you around!” He grabbed Emil and Mickey by their collars and practically dragged them away. Yuri watched as they continued toward their respective practice areas, speaking to each other in hushed tones. _That was weird,_ thought Yuri. He shook his head – no sense in worrying about them. He had better things to do.

He grabbed a box and a yoga mat and went through the same warm-up routine that Yakov put him through every day – he could recite each stretch by heart now – and watched the other skaters around him. The ice was still swarming with other skaters. Why did they all have to be on their skates at the same time? Yuri needed more space when he worked.

_No matter,_ he decided. _Yakov’s right, I need to work on the fundamentals. I’ll get on the ice once everyone starts to clear out._ It had bruised his ego somewhat to get that message from his coach, but Yuri learned a long time ago that it was better to take his advice as constructive criticism and use it to better himself rather than get defensive over it. Anything he could use to improve his technique, he would latch onto it and take it to heart.

He put in his earbuds and hit shuffle on the playlist he had downloaded the night before. He shuffled through track after track, listening to each piece as he performed some ankle strengthening exercises. He was thankful that Yakov had forbidden him from jump practice for a couple of days – yesterday's practice had him wincing with every step, forcing him to give his feet and ankles an Epsom salt bath that night and wrap them in athletic tape earlier that morning to give him some support when walking. It was a wonder that JJ wasn’t in the same condition. If he knew anything about JJ, he probably performed his jumps with the same vigor Yuri did. Yet there he was on the ice, practicing his doubles and triples. _What’s with that guy?_ Yuri wondered. As much as it pained him to admit it, JJ was an incredibly talented skater. But even the most talented skaters get sore after tough practices – that’s just the way it was. So why wasn’t he? Was he superhuman or something?

_Tch, superhuman,_ scoffed Yuri internally. _More like a super pain-in-my-ass._

Suddenly, while he was standing on his toes in extreme plantarflexion, something in Yuri’s leg seized up. He hissed and limped over to the wall where the foam roller bin stood. He shuffled through the colorful cylinders until he found a black one – they were the most dense, perfect for working out bad muscle cramps. Yuri gently lowered himself to the floor and began rolling out the tension in his calf muscle. _I might have overdone it just a bit,_ he thought, irritated. He bet that JJ never got muscle cramps, damn him.

“Everything okay, Yuri?”

He sighed. “Yes, Mila, I’m fine.” It figured that someone else would try to meddle with his practice today. Yuri wished Yakov would hurry up and get back from his conference – he was good at shooing other people away.

“Calf cramp, huh? That’s no fun,” said Mila, making a sour face. “Do you need help stretching it out?”

“No thanks, I can do it,” said Yuri, carefully standing up and putting away his roller. He moved over to the wall and planted the toe of his shoe against it with his heel on the floor, the flexion in his ankle giving his calves a good stretch. Mila wandered over to watch him.

“I never took you to be the type that cramped up,” mused Mila. “Always so sure of yourself, acting like you’re God’s gift to the world…”

“Are you sure you’ve got the right guy?” said Yuri, glancing over at JJ as he landed a perfect triple axel.

Mila hummed amusedly. “I guess that description does fit JJ a little better. Even so, you’re still pretty arrogant yourself.”

“Hmph,” said Yuri. “Name one person here besides JJ who has earned the right to be cocky. Here’s a hint: it’s me.”

Mila blinked at him for a second, surprised. “This is the most I’ve heard you speak since you got here. What makes me so special, hm?” Yuri said nothing, settling for just a scoff. “Tell you what: you’ve already been working on a short program right? Show me what you have of your step sequence so far and I’ll critique you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re working alone today, right? What kind of teammate would I be if I didn’t at least offer to help you?”

As much as Yuri wanted to tell Mila to piss off, he was struck with a sudden urge to show her what he had been practicing and give her nothing to critique – it would already be perfect, he decided. “Fine,” he said. “But only because the ice is starting to clear out. And I need to practice the sequence anyway.” There were only three other skaters on the ice now, and they looked to be getting ready to exit. Mila clapped excitedly and watched as Yuri laced up his skates.

                Yuri entered the ice gingerly, the arches of his feet still a little sore after the fact. He quickly got used to the feeling and performed a few crossovers to warm himself up. Once he felt ready, he posed gracefully and made sure Mila was paying attention.

“Okay!” she called. “Yuri Plisetsky, you may begin!”

He pressed play on the Shostakovich piece Yakov had shown him. It had grown on him considerably since he had first listened to it – he loved how he could flow with the music, but he could still be bold and bombastic with the finale of the piece. It was different than anything he had done in the past, but in a good way.

As he began his sequence, he felt his entire body relax. This was the feeling he had missed the most during the period after his final youth competition – when he was in performance mode, he was in his zone. His brow was no longer furrowed in anger, his arms were free and flowing instead of crossed. It was as if his body were making the music. His skates glided over the ice, weaving in and out in a rather complex step sequence.

Then he came to the jumps in the yet unfinished choreography. If he had been skating on his own as he had originally intended, he would have skipped them, or even settled for singles instead of more advanced jumps. After all, he was still recovering from his soreness. However, now he felt compelled to really put on a show since he had Mila as an audience. He put his leg back, preparing for a triple toe loop and –

“Oof!”

His first mistake was misjudging the number of turns he would complete. His triple toe loop had turned into a double at the last second, leaving him unprepared for hitting the ice. To add to his embarrassment, the anticipation of hurting his ankle caused him to compensate and land incorrectly, sending him to the ice. He slid a few feet on his butt, legs splayed out rather ungracefully. His face reddened with shame.

Mila, on the other hand, found the whole scenario to be quite funny. Her melodic laughter rang through the ice rink. “Yuri, oh my god!” she gasped. “That was too good!” She leaned against the railing, practically wheezing.

Yuri skated to the gate and put a pair of rubber guards on the blades of his skates. “I’m fine, thanks for asking,” he grumbled. She couldn’t hear him from laughing so hard. He stalked away as best he could while wobbling slightly on his skates.

“Don’t be like that, Yuri, I’m sorry!” Mila called, chasing after him. “I didn’t mean anything by it, you just caught me by surprise! You landed in a funny position and I couldn’t help but laugh! I think you were doing a really good job up to that point!”

“Thanks,” he said curtly.

“I mean it! You just got scared of hurting yourself and backed off. We’ve all done it.”

Yuri glared at her. “I am _not_ scared.” She just shrugged. “It’s fine, I’ll be fully recovered by the time Yakov returns, then you’ll be able to see me land that triple.”

Mila stopped in her tracks, making Yuri stop too. “Returns…?”

“Yeah, from the conference,” said Yuri.

“What conference?”

Yuri looked at her, a little confused. “Didn’t he tell you? I figured he’d at least tell you and Georgi personally, since we knew him from the Russian program.”

Mila looked at the floor. “Nobody told you…”

“Told me what?”

“Yuri…” Mila took a long pause. “They fired him.”

_…what?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh...
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you want, leave a comment here or come and visit me on my [Tumblr](nyuuhime.tumblr.com)!


	4. Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ho, welcome to chapter four! Just in case you missed the update, I made a minor edit in chapter two: instead of January, the story now begins in November. This chapter is adjusted accordingly!

“Attention passengers: we will be arriving at our next destination in fifteen minutes. Please retrieve your luggage and any other personal items before exiting and vacate the platform as quickly as possible. Thank you.”

Yuri yawned and lifted his head from its resting spot against the window. Bleary-eyed, he glanced out at the scenery whizzing by. He must’ve been out for a while – somewhere between the time he had fallen asleep until now, the urban backdrop of Tokyo faded into a more rural scene. Homes dotted the countryside, partially-melted snow covering the brown grassy hills. It was such a far cry from where Yuri had been earlier that morning.

As soon as Mila had broken the news of Yakov’s departure from the team, Yuri immediately began bombarding her with questions. Unfortunately, at that point, she knew as much as Yuri did.

“Well who told you?!” he had demanded, taking out his phone and calling Yakov’s number. Straight to voicemail.

“I heard it from JJ!” Mila had answered defensively. She had never seen Yuri quite this worked up before. The two of them, Yuri more begrudgingly, went and questioned JJ. In true fashion, JJ was hesitant to reveal what he knew (or, in Yuri’s words, being a huge pain in the ass about it).

“Celestino told me the news,” he had answered. “Wouldn’t give me any specifics.”

"Well where is he now?!” Yuri had asked. It took all his willpower not to grab JJ by his lapel and shove him against the wall. It figured that the one time he was at a loss for words just happened to be when Yuri actually needed something from him.

“Maybe I know, maybe I don’t,” JJ had answered coyly. “Odd, you’ve barely spoken to me since you joined this team, and now I’m suddenly useful to you? Perhaps I’m growing on you, hm?”

 _Forget this,_ Yuri had thought, stomping away with Mila following close behind. The two of them set out to find Emil – if JJ knew something, it was likely that someone in his posse would too. Emil had been a little more compliant, giving them the same information that JJ had with little resistance. However, he genuinely didn’t seem to know where Yakov was. This sent Yuri and Mila on a wild goose chase, unraveling a web of he-said/she-said claims. Mickey heard the news from Sara, who was in the girls’ locker room. Mila had to go in and question her, leaving Yuri to pace the hall outside. Sara had seen Yakov speaking to Georgi the last time she saw him.

 _Of course, another Russian skater!_ Yuri tracked him down to the men’s locker room and immediately began bombarding him with questions. Fortunately, Georgi didn’t seem to have any qualms about divulging the information that JJ was trying to keep from Yuri.

“I caught him on his way out – he had all of his office things packed up in a box. Must’ve just gotten the news. His train ticket fell out of his pocket and I caught a glimpse of it before returning it to him.” Georgi didn’t have an address or any other specific details, but he did have the name of a small town.

 _Hasetsu, Japan,_ thought Yuri. _Of all the places he could go, why there?_ Yuri had never heard of the town before and didn’t really bother with researching it. All he knew was that it was about a seven-hour train trip to there from Tokyo, which he had discovered after buying a ticket the same day he had received the news. That next morning, he packed up his skating duffel with his usual gear as well as his travel suitcase and skipped out on going to the ice rink altogether, having the taxi drop him off at the closest train station he could find.  

Yuri took out his phone and began composing an email addressed to Yakov. He figured that it would be best to warn the man before showing up unannounced. Granted, it was very short notice, but Yuri could at least say that he tried. Besides, Yuri had been trying to call him ever since he first got the news, so it’s not like it should be a big mystery. _Yakov probably won’t be happy either way._

A light above the sliding doors flashed green and the train began to slow into the station. Yuri grabbed his baggage and practically flew off the platform as soon as the doors opened. Hasetsu Station was old and rustic compared to the metropolitan station in Tokyo. _What could possibly have driven Yakov to come here?_

He stepped out into the chilly December air, taking in his surroundings. He started reconsidering his initial judgement of Hasetsu – it wasn’t quite the middle-of-nowhere town he had originally assessed. The rural countryside outlying this town didn’t prepare him for what he decided was definitely a suburban-type area. From the front doors of the station he had quite the view of densely-packed buildings of a much more…traditional style, he decided, compared to the more modern architecture of Tokyo. When Yuri got the news that he was accepted into the international program and would be moving to Japan, this is what he’d pictured. He wandered further, looking all around. The smell of seawater hung in the air, mixing with the sweet aroma of street vendors selling handmade crepes. Yuri continued, following the scent until he found a bustling street of shops, stands, and various other small businesses.

Yuri stopped in his tracks, now fully aware that he was now stuck in a town he had never been to and had no idea where to begin his search. Had he really wandered so far from the station? That was the only landmark he had to give him a relation to any place in this town, and it was nowhere to be seen. _You’ve got to me kidding me, did I just run off without a map or any idea of where I should go?_ Upon looking around, it appeared that this was exactly the case – Yuri was lost in Japan.

_Well, crap._

He took out his phone, hoping to see a reply from Yakov. The only notification he had was a text message from Mila, asking where he was. Did no one else notice that he was gone? Or did they not care? Oh well, he didn’t want to hear from anyone anyway, especially not JJ and his crew. He cleared the message and started searching for any locations nearby that might lead him to his coach.

“Excuse me?” Yuri whirled around to see a young woman approaching him. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but you look a little lost.” _Hmph,_ thought Yuri. _How presumptuous of you, assuming the obvious foreigner is lost._ He quickly dropped this train of thought upon realizing that he was, in fact, a lost foreigner. “Are you going somewhere in particular? I could give you directions if you need them.”

Before his instincts could tell him to shoo her away, he stopped himself. Perhaps he could get a little information from her that could lead him to Yakov. “Is there an ice rink nearby?” he asked.

The woman’s eyes lit up. “Ah, you must be talking about Ice Castle. I bet you’re a hockey fan, hm?” She chuckled, endeared by what she thought must be Yuri’s enthusiasm as a sports fan. In reality, Yuri often scorned hockey as being “brutish” and “barbaric,” nothing at all like his beloved figure skating. “My brother’s actually on the team! They don’t usually have open practices, but I bet if you told the team captain you know me he’d let you sit in and watch!”

“Where can I find Ice Castle?!” Yuri all but shouted at this poor girl, revved up at the possibility of seeing his coach.

“It’s actually not too far away!” She put an arm on Yuri’s shoulder and turned him around, pointing down the bustling street. “Go this way and take a left at that coffee shop at the corner. If you keep going, Ice Castle will be the first big set of stairs on your right. Tell them you know Mari Katsuki!”

Yuri dashed off immediately, shouting his thanks over his shoulder. He followed her directions, elbowing his way past people as he dashed down the street. He took the turn at the coffee shop and picked up his pace to a sprint. _If he’s going to be anywhere in this little nowhere town, it’s going to be there._

He spotted a large, plain-looking building in the distance, a mob of people spilling out its doors. Many of them carried gigantic duffel bags and had skates draped over their shoulders. That had to be Ice Castle, Yuri decided, and he ran until he reached the big set of stairs that Mari had mentioned. He was scanning the small crowd, desperately hoping Yakov was somewhere in it, when he bumped into one of the men carrying a duffel bag.

“Hey, watch it!” spat Yuri, rubbing his arm. He didn’t appreciate being shoulder-checked by a hockey player – he knew this man must be a part of the team that Mari talked about because he reeked of sweat and topical pain reliever, probably Atomic Balm or Biofreeze. _Disgusting,_ he thought.

“You watch it,” retorted the young man coldly, stopping Yuri in his tracks. Few people had the gall to talk back to Yuri Plisetsky. Yuri stared him down – he was tall, at                 least six inches taller than Yuri, with a messy black undercut and dark eyes that stared back at Yuri vacantly. His unyielding gaze made Yuri anxious, a feeling he was unaccustomed to. Instead of trying to take on someone bigger and probably stronger than him, he huffed and turned on his heel. _Remember, you’re here to find Yakov, not pick fights with dumb jocks._

As if on cue, Yuri spotted a familiar black hat and shoulder-length gray hair. “Yakov!” He rushed towards his coach, promptly forgetting his encounter with the hockey player.

Yakov turned toward the familiar voice, an incredulous look on his face. “Yuri?”

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you-HEY!” Yuri’s fervor was quickly extinguished when Yakov whapped him on the head a couple of times with a rolled-up newspaper. “Stop that!”

“What in God’s name are you doing here?!” Yakov demanded, punctuating each word with a whack to Yuri’s head. “You’re supposed to be in Tokyo right now, you stupid child!”

“I should ask you the same thing!” retorted Yuri. “They fired you and you lied to me about it! You even kept emailing me instructions like nothing was wrong! You can’t just leave like that without saying anything!”

Yakov swatted him with the newspaper again. “This is exactly why I didn’t say anything! I _knew_ you would do something idiotic like this! What were you thinking, Yuri?”

Yuri pouted. “I was thinking that I wanted to see my favorite coach and ask him what’s going on. You at least owe me an explanation.”

Yakov rubbed the bridge of his nose, exasperated. “You could have called or emailed me, you know.”

“Don’t give me that,” said Yuri. “I did both and never got a response.”

“Hmph,” said Yakov, taking out his phone. His face dropped as, lo and behold, there were Yuri’s missed calls and novel-length email to him. “Well that still doesn’t excuse your behavior. The other coaches are probably worried sick.”

“I don’t care about the other coaches!” shouted Yuri, his voice wavering a little. _Damn it, don’t start crying!_ “You said it yourself, they’re holding me back!”

“No, you’re holding yourself back by running away from one of the most prestigious programs in the world. You’re going back to Tokyo tonight, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

Yuri crossed his arms. “Like hell I am. I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers from you.”

Yakov stared him down, expecting him to waver under his coach’s harsh glare. He sighed defeatedly, remembering who he was dealing with. “Fine. You might as well come back to the inn with me since you’re here. You can stay with me tonight, we’ll talk everything over, then we’re getting you on the first train back to Tokyo tomorrow.”

“We’ll see,” said Yuri, following at Yakov’s heels.

Both men were silent as they made the short walk back to the inn, a tangible tension hanging in the air around them. Yuri stared at his feet, the weight of his situation finally starting to sink in. He had completely uprooted his life in Russia to pursue his dreams in Tokyo, and now he was relocating again on a crazy whim to follow his coach. What if Yakov wouldn’t coach him anymore? What if he was sent back to Tokyo only to find out that the international program wouldn’t take him back? Yuri’s mind raced with the possibilities.

The two arrived at the inn, a rinky-dink little place called Yu-topia Katsuki. A short, plump woman sitting at the front counter smiled when she saw Yakov, her expression suddenly changing to a questioning one when she saw his tagalong. “Good evening, Yakov.”

“Good evening, Hiroko,” said Yakov, his demeanor oddly pleasant considering the circumstances.

“Ah, have you brought a guest with you? Is he one of your clients?” the friendly woman asked. Yuri raised an eyebrow and glanced at his coach. _Clients, eh?_

“Not exactly,” said Yakov. “He’s a former student of mine, Yuri Plisetsky. He’s just visiting.” He shot a pointed glance at Yuri. “Is it okay if he spends the night? He can stay in my room.”

“Ah! Another Yuuri!” she gushed. “Of course, of course! I’ll lay out a second futon for him!” Hiroko bustled away to make arrangements for her surprise guest. Yakov and Yuri settled into the main lounge area, a few other guests meandering about and glancing at them, whispering to one another. Meanwhile, an older gentleman – presumably her husband – brought out two piping hot cups of tea for the two guests.

“So this is where you’ve been staying, eh?” asked Yuri. “It seems a little small for your taste.” It was true – Yakov was a world-renowned figure skating coach. He could stay at any five-star resort he wanted.

“I’m afraid the pickings are slim in this area,” said Yakov, taking a drink of tea. “This is one of the only lodgings in the whole town. At least one of the nicer ones.”

Yuri sipped at his own drink, wincing slightly when it scalded his tongue. “So why did you come here then? You’re practically famous, surely there are better places for you to go.”

Yakov sighed. “Not at the moment, there’s not. They fired me because I favored you too much. I was supposed to be giving equal time to the skaters under my wing and I neglected them. This means I’ve essentially been blacklisted from coaching at any reputable skating program, at least for the time being.”

Yuri stared at his reflection in the cup of tea, not knowing what to say. He didn’t realize the effect that Yakov’s special treatment would have.

“I decided to stay in Japan while my work visa is still valid,” continued Yakov. “I’ve tried picking up gigs giving individual skating lessons, but so far I haven’t had any takers. There isn’t much demand for it in such a small town. So for now, I’m working at Ice Castle. They might be offering group lessons for kids soon now that I’m here.”

Yuri frowned. “I don’t like this.”

Yakov raised his cup. “Neither do I. I was so foolish to play favorites with you. I just…” He paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. “I see so much potential in you, and I’ve noticed it ever since you were little. I wanted so badly to see you succeed that I put everything else aside.”

“Wait,” said Yuri, perking up slightly. “Since I’m here, why don’t you coach me here in Hasetsu?”

“Excuse me?” Yakov gave him an expression that can only be described as an “are-you-joking” look. Yuri ignored it.

“You heard me. I’m here, we have an ice rink, and you don’t have any other skaters to worry about right now.” Yuri knew he must sound crazy, but he was so amped up by this idea that he couldn’t stop himself. “I can still compete independently in all the same circuits as Mila and Georgi and the others, I just won’t be affiliated with the same program!”

“Yuri, that might be the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard,” said Yakov. “I don’t have time for that, I have a job already lined up.”

“What job? Sitting around twiddling your thumbs waiting for people to come sign up for lessons?” Yuri crossed his arms and smirked when he saw Yakov’s annoyed expression. “You know I’m right.”

“Even if we did do this, I don’t think it’d be best for you,” said Yakov. “You need other skaters to compete with at practice. I know how you operate, Yuri Plisetsky, and I think you need to go back to the international program where there are other skaters your age to motivate you.”

“Not a chance,” said Yuri. “I’ve tried so hard to find my drive there and it isn’t working. Let’s face it: you’re the only thing keeping me on the ice. Not Mila, or Georgi, or Celestino, or JJ, or anyone else in Tokyo.”

Yakov paused, then shook his head. “I shouldn’t even be considering this. You belong somewhere with resources! Somewhere to help you reach your full potential!”

“You know that I won’t reach my potential there,” said Yuri. “Please, Yakov. I know I can be a stronger competitor with one-on-one instruction from you and you alone. I’ll work at the ice rink or teach kids’ classes to pay for your coaching fees. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just _please_ give me a chance.”

“Pardon me,” said Hiroko, carrying a tray with two steaming bowls. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I thought you two might be hungry. Can I offer you some katsudon? It’s our specialty!”

 _Damn it! I had Yakov right where I wanted him!_ Yuri wanted so badly to tell Hiroko to leave them alone – however, his train of thought was interrupted when he caught a whiff of the katsudon, making his stomach growl loudly. It then occurred to him that he had been in such a frenzy to get to Hasetsu and find Yakov that he had forgotten to have lunch. The last thing he’d eaten was a bagel at the hotel that morning, so he was absolutely famished and the katsudon smelled amazing.

"Yes please, thank you, Hiroko,” said Yakov pleasantly. The change in his mood was so jarring, it was as if he’d flipped a switch. Hiroko placed a bowl and pair of chopsticks in front of them, Yuri eyeing the food ravenously. Yakov snapped his fingers at Yuri. “Say thank you, child.”

“Thank you,” parroted Yuri, his eyes affixed and his mouth watering. He split his chopsticks and took a bite. “Oh my god, _thank_ you!” The pork cutlet bowl was _amazing._ He tucked in, his table manners forgotten as he savored this wonderful new dish.

Hiroko giggled. “My, you must’ve been hungry after your trip. Your appetite could rival my son’s, maybe even the rest of the team!” Yuri didn’t hear her – he was too busy digging in. Yakov shook his head and began eating his own serving.

A noisy group of people came barreling down the hallway, chatting and laughing uproariously. Yuri glanced up from his bowl to look at them – a few faces looked familiar. Where had he seen them before? Some of them shot cursory glances towards Yuri, while others were too wrapped up in their conversations about the hot spring to notice the new guest. One face stood out in particular: the young brute that Yuri had bumped into outside Ice Castle. He lagged behind the rest of the group and split off from them, sauntering into the dining area. Yuri hunched over, hoping he wouldn’t be recognized – the last thing he needed right now was a confrontation.

“Yuri, you’ve got me thinking,” said Yakov suddenly. Yuri’s gaze snapped up to meet Yakov’s, momentarily forgetting the hockey player. “Since you’re already here and you seem so adamant, we can give this arrangement a try. We’ll give this a week-long trial period. You’re going to have to work hard, do you understand? You’ll follow all my instruction exactly and lend a hand with any chores around the rink with no backtalk. If I decide that it isn’t working out, you’re going back to Tokyo. Is that clear?”

Yuri nodded furiously. “Yes! Yes, crystal clear! I’ll do everything you tell me!”

Yakov extended his hand, which Yuri gladly shook. “Then we have a deal.” He pushed aside his empty bowl. “I’m going up to the room for a moment, come up whenever you’re ready. I’ll speak to Hiroko about your long-term arrangements.” He stood up and started to leave, but then he paused and looked back. “By the way, call Celestino or Mila or someone and tell them you’re here. I don’t want them to worry.” On that, he took his leave.

As soon as Yakov was out of earshot, Yuri jumped up and shouted with glee. “Yes!” He couldn’t contain the grin that spread from ear to ear across his face. “Yes, this is fantastic!”

"Keep it down, will you?” came a grouchy voice. “Some of us are trying to relax here.”

Yuri whirled around to glare at the source of the voice, only to be faced with the dark-haired brute again. “If you don’t like it, go somewhere else,” he retorted before he could stop himself.

He regretted this immediately – the large man stood up and dwarfed Yuri in both height and girth. His defined muscles gave him a much larger physique than Yuri’s petite, slender frame. Yuri stepped back, ready to run away if this beast threw the first punch. Even though he was on his guard, he stood his ground. “I was here before you, after all.”

The man chuckled quietly, almost cockily. “Well I was staying in this inn before you, so perhaps _you_ should go somewhere else.”

“Make me,” said Yuri defiantly. The two stared each other down for what felt like an eternity, both refusing to break eye contact, before Hiroko entered the dining area again.

“Ah Otabek! I see you’ve met our newest guest! You wouldn’t believe it, but his name is also Yuuri! Isn’t that funny?” She giggled again when Otabek scoffed. “You’re such a grump,” she said endearingly, making him scowl and stalk out of the room. Yuri smirked to himself. _Hmph, I win._ “Yuri, I have a futon ready for you in one of our spare rooms! Yakov said that you could share with him, but I wouldn’t have it! Come with me, I’ll show you where everything is!”

Yuri followed behind the sweet woman, still thinking about his encounter with the hockey player. He thought it was interesting that the first person he butted heads with since moving to Japan wasn't even another figure skater. It was a shame that they couldn't be rivals, competing side-by-side. What was his name again?  _Otabek, eh? Just stay out of my way, Otabek, and we won’t have any problems._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonists finally meet! Man this is a long chapter, but holy hell I got so much inspiration so fast! I can't wait to continue!
> 
> FYI: I did take a little creative liberty here and made Otabek taller than he is in canon. I thought it fit a little better with the "beast" theme.
> 
> As always, here's my [Tumblr](nyuuhime.tumblr.com)!


	5. Home

  _Come on, just go in,_ thought Yuri, pacing outside Ice Castle. _You’ve been to dozens of different rinks, this one is no different._ He exhaled sharply and shook his head as if that would clear out the anxiety. Why was he so nervous? He wasn’t even this worried about his first day with the young adults’ team – if anything, he should be happy that he was going to be the only student now. Yet here he was, too intimidated to even set foot in this new environment. _This is ridiculous, just go in!_ He exhaled again and opened the door, rushing inside before he could give himself the chance to chicken out.  

He hadn’t actually entered Ice Castle when he first arrived in Hasetsu – he was fortunate to have caught Yakov as he was leaving yesterday. This was his official first day in the new rink and it was…nothing out of the ordinary. Although there was a distinct lack of hairspray, the air still smelled of cologne, disinfectant, and rubber matting with a stronger presence of body odor. He wrinkled his nose when he caught a whiff. _What a combination,_ he thought.

A cacophony of noise coming from the rink attracted his attention, the familiar sound of blades on ice putting him somewhat at ease. This last hope for relief from his apprehension was extinguished when he also heard the distinct sound of a hard rubber puck against wood. Turns out the hockey team was still practicing, conducting a three-on-three match with one goal, an unfortunate sap stuck there wearing so many pads that it was a wonder he wasn’t completely immobile. It took everything Yuri had not to show his disgust. He’d had the same opinion about hockey since he was a young child: it was an uncivilized, uncouth waste of a perfectly good ice rink. He had shared rinks with hockey teams growing up, and the players were always the same – big, oafish lads, with terrible hygiene and all the cognitive ability of a bag of rocks. They would always come into the locker room making too much noise, fill the room with the stench of sweaty gear, and leave it a complete mess of broken deodorant sticks and athletic tape. Not to mention the state of the ice when they were done practicing: they practically destroyed it for anyone coming after them thanks to their constant stop-and-go movements. Figure skaters didn’t need to change directions on the ice as often, so they could at least leave it in good enough shape to perform a decent crossover drill, let alone an entire short program.

This team seemed to be divided up and playing against one another – half of them were wearing red mesh vests over their clothes. Most of the players, to Yuri’s surprise, weren’t the big bumbling buffoons that he remembered from his formative years. In fact, many of them seemed quite lithe in their stature, even under their hockey pads. Even though they weren’t exactly cavemen, Yuri still grimaced at their skates – big clunky-looking things with plastic bits on the boot and ugly blades with no toe picks. Yuri always sneered in his head when he saw those skates, chuckling to himself and making jokes at their expense. _Dumb jocks, they don’t even need toe picks to perform jumps. Must be nice to always have your skates touching the ice. Anybody with half a brain could play hockey, brain optional._  

A whistle blew, and the game came to a halt. Everyone circled up on the ice, slapping each other on the back and offering congratulations. A few of them began shedding their helmets, revealing several messy heads of hair. A certain black undercut caught Yuri’s attention.

“Return here at seven o’clock sharp for evening drills,” said the familiar monotone voice of Otabek. “Anyone who is late owes me three laps around the rink. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir!” replied the rest of the team in unison. Otabek didn’t dismiss them, taking off toward the exit without them. He put a pair of guards on his skates and lumbered off toward the locker room, not noticing Yuri standing on the other side of the ice.

“Excellent work today, men!” exclaimed a tall, slender player with gray hair twisted into an unkempt bun at the nape of his neck. “Be sure to rest up before this evening – ice and compress any painful joints and take a dip in the hot springs. Also have something good to eat, because I want my team to take care of themselves!”

Another man standing next to him, still in his helmet, nodded. “If anyone wants to join us for a team lunch in town, meet up outside the inn at one o’clock! Come talk to me or shoot me a text if you want to join us!”

“Dismissed!” called out the gray-haired one.  The rest of the hockey players whooped and started high-fiving each other as they excited the rink, some still lingering on the ice.

Yuri sat on a bench near the edge of the rink, preparing to warm up and get a feel for the new environment. He moved purposefully slowly, hoping that they would clear out and give him some privacy. He didn’t want to practice in front of them, on the off chance that they would pick on him for being a figure skater. He’d never experienced it personally, but he had seen it happen to other skaters growing up – rude nicknames, jeering, pushing them around just because they were smaller.

“Hey!”

Yuri’s head shot up, facing the direction of the voice. It was coming from the ice, from the helmeted man that had just spoken to the team. He removed his helmet, revealing a blond and brown undercut. _Jeez, is that hairstyle a requirement to be on this team?_ He was waving Yuri over. “Come on out, we wanna talk to you!”

Suddenly at a loss for words, much to his own annoyance, Yuri shook his head. The man chuckled and skated over to the edge of the rink. “We heard about you from your coach, we just wanted to meet you and get to know you.”

“No thank you,” answered Yuri.

He leaned against the divider. “I promise we don’t bite. C’mon, it’ll just be a minute and then we’ll clear off the ice before you start your practice.”

Yuri sighed. “Alright, fine.” He put on his skates with guards and cautiously walked over to the entrance. _Damnit, why isn’t Yakov here yet?!_ “Just so we’re clear, I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to work and train.”

He laughed again. “Fair enough, but it won’t hurt to at least meet your rink mates, right? My name is Christophe, by the way, but most people just call me Chris.” Yuri snorted, but continued onto the ice anyway. Rough patches in its surface made Yuri feel shaky on his skates. _Ugh, the aftermath._ He followed Christophe to the center of the ice where the remaining members of the team stood laughing and generally making merriment.

“Guys,” said Christophe. “This is Yuri Plisetsky, the one that the new instructor was telling us about. He’s gonna be on the ice practicing for his figure skating competitions, so make him feel welcome!”

“Ah Yuri!” said the gray-haired one gleefully. “Yakov told me all about you! I’m from Moscow too!” He glided over and put an arm around Yuri’s shoulder. _God, ew,_ thought Yuri, picturing the sweat that must be getting all over him. “My name is Viktor, I’m sure we’ll have a lot in common!”

The thought of having something in common with a hockey player was laughable to Yuri, but he didn’t scoff. These were hockey players, after all – best not make them angry. The friendly schtick could just be a ruse. This Viktor fellow was awfully touchy-feely, very unlike what Yuri was expecting. In fact, while all these guys looked a little rough around the edges, they seemed friendly enough. They even looked smarter than your average hockey player.

A shorter player made his way over to where Viktor was practically manhandling Yuri. _Interesting,_ Yuri thought. This one was wearing different, somehow clunkier-looking pads than the rest of the team – gigantic rectangular pads on each leg and a mask that looked like something straight out of a scary movie. “Give the boy some space, Viktor, geez,” he said jokingly. He took his helmet and mask off to reveal a mop of messy black hair. “Nice to meet you, Yuri,” he said pleasantly, extending his huge gloved hand and offering a kind smile. This revealed that he was missing a tooth. “My name is…well, Yuuri!” So, he was the one that Hiroko had been talking about.

“It might get a little confusing having two Yuuris here,” said Christophe with a chuckle.

“Why don’t we give him a nickname?” piped up another player sporting a black eye and a small topknot. For a brief moment, Yuri thought about how his own hair would look twisted up like that. “How about…Yurio?”

“What?! No!” cried Yuri indignantly. This only made the team laugh.

“Yeah, Yurio is perfect!” said Viktor.

“Why doesn’t he have to be Yurio?!” demanded Yuri, pointing at the man in question who was putting on a pair of glasses.

The one with the topknot shrugged. “Because he’s Yuuri.”

“ _I’m_ Yuri!”

“Yeah, but he was Yuuri first.” Yuri shot him the meanest look he possibly could. _Guess I can forget wearing my hair like him._

“You’re so mean, Leo,” teased yet _another_ hockey player that Yuri didn’t know. He was going to have to make a list if he wanted to keep up with all these names. This one waved. “I’m Phichit, by the way. That one” – he pointed at the man-bun – “is Leo.”

Yuri shook his head. “This is all too much,” he said, turning around only to be faced by _another_ team member grinning giddily at him, someone unexpectedly quite a bit shorter than him.

“Hi!” he said, waving excitedly. “I’m Kenjirou Minami! It’s really nice to meet you! I heard that we were getting a visitor to our rink that was close to my age and I was really excited!” He took off his helmet and revealed a head of strawberry blond hair with a dyed red streak. Yuri was honestly astounded by his appearance alone – he pictured hockey players with buzzcuts or even unkempt messes on their heads, not someone who clearly visits a stylist.

“Okay, calm down Minami,” said Yuuri, who skated over and put an arm around the boy’s shoulder, not-so-subtly squeezing his shoulder to shut him up. “Minami is our new apprentice player. He doesn’t play in any games for now, but we’re training him to play different positions.

“I only play during practice right now,” Minami said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head.

“Okay guys, that’s enough,” said Viktor. “Let’s not overwhelm our new guest. Phichit, Leo, go ahead and get changed – it’s your turn to clean up the sidelines.” The two athletes nodded and headed off the ice. “Chris, let’s hurry up and resurface the ice so Yuri can start.”

“Take your time,” said Yuri, genuinely surprised that they were willing to do something so courteous for him. “I actually need to warm up and stretch first.”

“Alright then! We’ll try to hurry so you don’t end up waiting.” Viktor gestured to Christophe and the two of them skated off to go find the resurfacing machine while Yuuri and Minami started putting away equipment. Yuri skated off the rink and went to change out of his skates, at a loss for words thanks to their gestures. He began his dynamic warm-ups when they dragged out the old machine and began smoothing out the ice.

Yuri watched as they worked – the resurfacing machine looked a little bit like a push lawnmower, a far cry from the motorized Zamboni machines he was familiar with. Yuri had only seen push-powered machines in tiny rinks that couldn’t afford a Zamboni, and he knew they were a pain to use even with a small surface. Despite what had to be a major inconvenience for them, Viktor and Christophe painstakingly smoothed out all the ridges in the ice for Yuri.  

Yuri continued through his warm-up series on his own, occasionally glancing toward the door to see if Yakov was walking in. It was about nine o’clock, the time Yuri was supposed to begin. Not only was his coach running late, a hockey team was encroaching on his space and putting him on edge. On the other hand, this was probably the most well-mannered and considerate hockey team he had ever come across and they seemed sincerely interested in getting to know him. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel. In a strange way, he missed the rink in Tokyo for the familiar atmosphere. Even though he wasn’t satisfied there, it was at least strictly a figure skater’s space. However, he was also thankful for the welcoming environment these boys were providing for him. _Jeez, what’s going on with me?_ He shook his head and stood up to stretch his shoulders. _Remember, you insisted on this._

“What are _you_ doing here?”

Yuri looked toward the voice to see Otabek, carrying the same duffel bag he had seen yesterday. His skates dangled from his right hand, which was clenched in a fist so tight that his knuckles were white.

“I’m warming up, if that’s okay with you,” said Yuri coolly. Otabek huffed angrily and glanced at the white leather skates sitting on the ground next to Yuri’s own duffel.

“Oh for god’s sake, you’re the figure skater,” he said, dropped his duffel bag and putting a hand on his head.

Yuri crossed his arms. “So what if I am?” _Crap, why am I engaging with him again?_  

“Just what we need, a damn ice princess mucking up the place.”

“Excuse me?!” He raised his voice a little, getting the attention of Christophe and Viktor on the ice. They skated closer to the edge of the rink while Yuuri and Minami poked their heads out of the storage closet.

“You heard me. Look, just stay out of our way. It’s bad enough that we have to work around the rink’s open skate hours, now we have to share the ice with a prissy little prima donna.”

“Oh, I’m a diva, am I?” said Yuri, putting his hands on his hips. In retrospect, this might have only reaffirmed Otabek’s opinion. “At least I’m not a dim-witted, hockey-playing Neanderthal!”

Otabek scoffed, reminding Yuri a little of JJ, and got a little closer so he could stare him down. _Abort mission, abort!_ “Those are big words for such a little guy, diva. Don’t make me make you regret them.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” said Viktor, who had hurriedly put on his guards when he realized there was a confrontation. “We’re going to be sharing this rink for a while, so there’s no sense in being hostile to one another.”

“Don’t take his side, Nikiforov,” said Otabek, now staring Viktor down. “I’m your captain and you will not defy me.” He shot a dirty look at Yuri. “If you let this little brat distract you or anyone else the team, everyone will be punished. We can’t afford any interferences to our practices, we already have a piss-poor record as is.”

Christophe stepped forward. “Now now, gentlemen. Let’s be reasonable here. Yurio has just as much right to use this rink as we do, and I think we should be respectful to him.”

Otabek, clearly feeling outnumbered, scoffed again and turned away in a huff. “Enjoy your laps tonight,” he called over his shoulders. “I’m thinking extra drills after practice as well.” With that, he left the rink. The tension seemed to dissipate as everyone in the area breathed a collective sigh of relief. Yuuri and Minami joined the group now that the coast was clear.

“Viktor, remind me again why we try to reason with him,” groaned Christophe.

Viktor shrugged. “I don’t really care if he tries to pick fights with the team – they can handle themselves around him. But picking on Yurio isn’t fair. He didn’t ask for this.” He turned to Yuri. “I’m sorry. Otabek wasn’t always like this, I promise. Things haven’t been great with him lately, not just with interpersonal relations. His playing is suffering too.”

Yuri slammed a fist into the palm of his hand. “I don’t care what’s going on with him, I _dare_ him to step to me again! He’ll see what happens! I mean, who does he think he is?!”

Christophe looked at Yuri, astonished. “You might be braver than some of the people on this team. There aren’t many who would antagonize him like that and not be scared.”

“Oh, I was terrified,” said Yuri, momentarily not realizing who he was talking to. He would later kick himself for admitting something so personal to perfect strangers. “But I’m not going to take that lying down!”

Minami pumped a fist in the air. “Alright, Yurio!”

Yuuri hushed the younger boy. “Okay, I think we should be getting dressed now. We’ll leave you to it, Yurio.” The four athletes hurried off to the locker room, leaving Yuri by himself.

“Urgh!” he grumbled, balling his fists up and pounding them on a nearby bench. “The nerve of him!” He wanted to scream. He wanted nothing more than to throw a fit and let out all his anger. He knew he couldn’t let Yakov see him like this, though, so he kept it toned down. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself. _Okay, this isn’t so bad. This could actually be good for me. The rest of the team is nice, they’re on my side, and I can just avoid him. I’m not the only one who doesn’t want any distractions._ His breathing finally steadied. _I’m here to work and better myself. Don’t let him get to you._ He sat down and laced up his skates. Strangely enough, he was more fired up than ever.

“There you are, Yuri,” said Yakov, walking into the rink with a travel mug of coffee and a newspaper tucked under his arm. “Sorry I’m late. Did you go through your warm-ups?”

Yuri exhaled and smiled triumphantly. “I did. Let’s get started.” He entered the ice and immediately began gearing up for a triple Lutz.

“Yuri, basics first!” called Yakov. He didn’t listen though – he immediately entered the jump only for it to turn into a double that he didn’t land properly, using his hand to catch himself. His leg glided across the ice as he recovered. “Yuri, what has gotten into you?!”

“Sorry,” muttered Yuri, standing up and brushing the ice shavings off his pants leg. He skated over to the edge of the rink to listen to his coach’s instruction. What he didn’t realize, though, was that the failed jump was only an indicator of what was to come. Whether he liked it or not, Otabek had gotten into his head, and he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that we have most of our hockey team! I'm excited to continue writing this group, next chapter is gonna be fun :)
> 
> [As always, here's my Tumblr page!](www.nyuuhime.tumblr.com) Come by and see the pointless things I post there


	6. Be Our Guest

An uncomfortable stillness hung in the air, heavier than the steam of the Yu-topia Katsuki hot springs. Phichit and Seung-Gil were already soaking in the water, washcloths atop their heads, as Leo and Guang-Hong entered after finishing their baths. The normally-jovial athletes no longer talked or cracked jokes –  all of them had barely been energetic enough to wash themselves let alone chat with one another. For the last week, Otabek had been ruthless in his leadership as team captain. They now had to run five miles each morning, followed immediately by strength and conditioning exercises and on-ice practice until nine o’clock, when they would need to clear the ice for Yuri. At evening practices, Otabek’s drills were brutal – he ran them ragged until they could barely stand up, these practices sometimes lasting until eleven o’clock at night if he was feeling particularly merciless. After all that, this living hell started all over again the next morning with little respite. The boys were all exhausted, bruises peppering their shins and dark circles drooping under their eyes.

“I think we have a problem,” said Seung-Gil, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, no kidding,” said Leo bitterly. “Y’all will be lucky if I can walk tomorrow.” Any of them would have been lucky if they could walk on their sore, wobbly legs and aching feet. Hell, they would have considered themselves downright blessed if they could walk _and_ play hockey after the torment they’d endured.

Guang-Hong glared at him. “Oh yes, Leo, I’m _so_ worried about you being able to walk tomorrow.” He was the only one who had been made to run a drill by himself while everyone had to watch after Otabek had decided that Guang-Hong wasn’t being aggressive enough and was hiding behind his teammates to cover it up. The Chinese athlete had wrapped cold washcloths around his feet while he was bathing to try and alleviate the swelling.

“Pardon me, your highness,” snapped Leo, standing up and towering over the still-sitting Guang-Hong. “I guess we have to ask you before we’re allowed to complain. Tell me, is this bad enough to warrant a complaint?” He pointed at his still-healing black eye, a remnant of his run-in with the goal during a practice match a few days prior. Otabek had made him run laps for being so clumsy.

“Please don’t fight,” begged Phichit, getting up to stand between the two. Phichit hated seeing two of his best friends bicker at each other. “We’re still a team here.”

“Stay out of this, Phichit,” spat Leo. “You’re such a kiss-up, you’re the only one who hasn’t had to do extra work.”

“Would you both lay off?” snapped Seung-Gil, too tired to get up and resolve the conflict. “We’re all tired, okay? There’s no point in arguing over who’s got it worse.”

Leo rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry, Phichit, Guang-Hong. I didn’t mean it.” The other two boys voiced their own apologies back. “I’m just frustrated, I know we all are.”

“I think we need to have a team discussion about the real problem here,” said Phichit, pulling the washcloth from his head.

“You mean Captain Otabek? Yeah, no kidding,” said Seung-Gil. “What in the world has gotten into him? I know he’s been like this for a while, but it’s never been this bad.”

Phichit looked dejectedly at his friend. “At this rate, we’re never gonna even qualify for playoffs. Nobody’s head is in the game now.”

“Things were at least somewhat tolerable until that Yurio kid got here,” grumbled Leo, pounding an angry fist into the water. “I don’t know why Otabek hates that kid so much, but I’m starting to resent him a little too.”

After that first meeting between Yuri and Otabek, the two had thankfully done a good job of avoiding one another. Yuri had discovered pretty quickly that Otabek would storm out of every practice before his teammates, so he would stand outside Ice Castle out of sight until he saw Otabek leave. Few words were exchanged between the figure skater and the hockey team once he finally entered the rink – Yuri felt partially responsible for their punishment and almost ashamed to even speak to them.

“Maybe he doesn’t like sharing the ice?” suggested Guang-Hong. “They did say that Otabek was dissing him for being a figure skater, right?”

“Hm, I don’t think that’s really the case,” said Phichit. “After all, we’re using a public rink, we’ve had to share it with other people since the very beginning. Plus this figure skater vendetta he suddenly has seems to be a new development, I’m not sure where that came from.”

Viktor and Yuuri entered the hot springs arm-in-arm, followed closely by Minami and Christophe. “Did I hear something about a figure skater?” asked Viktor, lowering himself into the hot springs. Yuuri nestled himself right next to him.

 Phichit nodded, briefing the rest of the team on the discussion that had just taken place.

Viktor thoughtfully ran his fingers through Yuuri’s hair as discussion rose amongst the team, sneaking an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder. “They do raise a good point: he’s never acted this way around anyone else at the rink,” remarked Viktor to Yuuri. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so talkative, though. Maybe Yurio is awakening something in him.”

"What do you mean?” asked Yuuri, looking up at Viktor.

“I mean…what if Otabek likes Yurio? That would explain why he’s acting so uncharacteristically hostile.”

Yuuri smiled affectionately and brushed a wet lock of Viktor’s hair off his shoulder. “Such a romantic, Vitya. But I don’t know how likely that is.”

“Ooh! What if he _does_ like Yurio?!” piped up Minami, his loud outburst silencing the debate going on.

“No way, he can’t stand Yurio,” said Leo. “I know I wasn’t there to see it, but you all said it yourself: he was openly aggressive toward him. Not exactly what I would call flirting.”

“Yeah, but…” said Minami, pausing as he tried to find the right words. “Sometimes people tease the person they like, right?

The team collectively paused to stare at their youngest athlete.

"That’s the most ridiculous I’ve ever heard,” deadpanned Seung-Gil. “He’s not some little kid pulling his crush’s hair to get their attention. He’s acting like, well…”

“A dick?” finished Leo. “Yeah, not exactly what I would call teasing. Plus, he sure as hell didn’t do that with his girlfriend when they were together.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” said Phichit. “They were together before the start of the season, so who knows how he got her attention? Besides, I think there’s something to this theory. I mean, he’s never been good at expressing himself, right?”

“Expressing _affection_ ,” corrected Seung-Gil. “He sure as hell can express anger.”

“Okay, okay,” said Christophe. “Show of hands, who thinks that Otabek likes Yurio?” Viktor, Minami, and Phichit all raised their hands, their teammates looking on incredulously. “And who thinks that Otabek is just being a jackass?” The rest of the team’s hands shot up, including Christophe’s.

“Okay, okay,” said Viktor defeatedly. “You’re all right, I’m wrong. That still doesn’t fix our situation.”

Christophe shrugged. “There isn’t really much we can do besides endure it, right?”

The team fell silent, only the sound of running water cutting through the tension.

“I think there’s something we ought to do,” said Yuuri, raising his hand a little. “Yurio never received a proper welcome when he arrived in Hasetsu. I think we should make him feel at home, as an apology for our captain’s behavior on his first day here.”

The boys entertained this thought for a moment. Yuuri brought up an excellent point – Yuri had had a run-in with their team captain within his first twenty-four hours in Hasetsu. Things had been incredibly awkward since then and they hadn’t really gotten to speak with him properly since. Yuuri may have felt this way as part of the family that was hosting them all, but the rest of the team felt similarly.

“Where’s Otabek right now?” asked Viktor suddenly.

Christophe shrugged. “Probably sulking in his room or something, it’s not like he goes out anywhere.”

“And Yuri had the rink to himself this evening, right? Do you think he’s almost finished?”

“Possibly.”

Viktor stood up. “Get dressed, men. I have an idea.”

.:.:.:.

Yuri entered the front doors of Yu-topia Katsuki, shrugging off his coat and shivering away the cold. His duffel bag fell to the floor with a solid _thump_ , where it sat forgotten while Yuri peeled off layer upon layer of clothing. _Jeez, is it really only December 20 th? It feels like January out here._ A hat, scarf, and mittens fell in a pile on top of his duffel followed by a pair of boots and wool socks.

His practice that evening hadn’t gone well – he had missed almost every single jump he’d attempted. His hips and bottom were going to be so bruised tomorrow. On top of that, Yakov criticized every single move he made. They had started working on the short program choreography and apparently Yuri wasn’t skating with enough “feeling.” Yuri had argued that it was too early in the season for him to be doing anything other than learning the moves, and that he would add the feeling in later. Yakov didn’t appreciate the backtalk, so Yuri had gotten an earful about respecting his elders and “I’m only giving you a chance because you insisted on coming here, don’t make me change my mind and send you back to Tokyo.” Why had he been so off? He’d even been doing a good job of avoiding that awful hockey player. Yuri sniffed haughtily, not even wanting to _think_ his name.

He left his boots at the door and entered the main foyer of the inn, his bare feet curling at the sensation of the cold tile floor. The dining area was oddly empty, with quite a bit of racket coming from the kitchen. _They must be expecting a big dinner crowd._ He padded up the stairs and down the hallway to his room, where he unceremoniously dropped his duffel by the closet and flopped face-down on his futon. What a terrible week it had been. He was trying so hard to keep Yakov happy – he would help the rink staff match up pairs of rental skates, disinfect them after open-skate hours, organize them by size in the storage room, and he even took it upon himself to tie the laces together with an easy-to-untie knot the other staff had taught him, so the skates wouldn’t get separated before they could be rented out. Yet it seemed that Yakov was already having second thoughts about their arrangement because Yuri wasn’t performing with his usual gusto.

_Maybe I’d be better off in Tokyo,_ he thought miserably. At least he could outshine everyone there. Here, he could barely outshine the little kids learning to skate at Ice Castle. _I’m_ not _going back now, I’ve made my bed and I’ll just have to lie in it for a while. No pun intended._

There was a knock at the door. “Yurio? Are you in there?”

Yuri rolled out of his futon poked his head out the door. There stood Yuuri, wearing a pair of comfortable-looking sweats. It never failed to catch Yuri by surprise when he remembered that this was a hockey goalie – he always pictured the goalie as the roughest-looking player in the bunch. Yuuri looked too fragile, almost, with soft features, smooth, fair skin and a little chub around the middle. “What is it?” asked Yuri, opening the door the rest of the way.

“Ah, well,” began Yuuri, fidgeting with his fingers a bit. “We thought that you might have gotten off on the wrong foot with us when you first arrived. So we wanted to give you a proper Hasetsu welcome!” He flashed a wide, gap-toothed grin.

“Well, thanks,” said Yuri, slightly annoyed that his wallowing had been interrupted for basically nothing. “Is that all? I’m really tired.”

“Oh, no that’s not all!” said Yuuri, waving his hands hurriedly. “I mean, erm…have you eaten yet? We’ve got dinner prepared downstairs!”

Before Yuri could protest, his stomach grumbled loudly. He hadn’t realized that all of that falling on his ass had really worked up an appetite. Yuuri giggled behind his hand. “It sounds like it! Come on, it’ll be nice for everyone to mingle!”

“Wait!”

“Hm?” Yuuri paused.

“Is, um, _he_ going to be there?”

“Ah,” said Yuuri understandingly. “Don’t worry, Otabek won’t be there. He doesn’t like hanging out with us outside of practice.” Yuri sighed with relief and, as much as it pained him to think about, allowed himself to be practically dragged out of his room and downstairs to socialize with a bunch of hockey players. At least there was free food.

The dining area, empty when Yuri first arrived, was suddenly bustling with everyone from the hockey team, the athletes tucking into bowls of katsudon and drinking sake out of small cups. Yuuri cleared his throat. “Excuse me?” he said. The commotion stopped for a moment until the rest of the team saw the figure skater. “The guest of honor is here! Please make him feel welcome!” A friendly cheer erupted among them.

“Welcome, Yurio!” Cups were raised as the team welcomed him, though some more enthusiastic than others. Yuri was totally floored.

“You all did this for me?” he muttered to Yuuri.

Yuuri nodded. “My family owns the inn.” _That’s right, I keep forgetting that._ “Minami and I helped my mom and sister in the kitchen making the katsudon. The rest of the guys helped rearrange everything in the dining room.”

Viktor approached the two Yuris, clearly feeling the effects of the alcohol despite it only being his second cup. “Come! Make merry!” He clumsily tossed an arm over Yuuri’s shoulder, not-so-subtly pinching the goalie’s rear.

“Vitya!” squeaked Yuuri, his cheeks reddening. “There’s people here!” Despite his words, Yuuri didn’t push Viktor away.

“Aw, don’t be a party pooper,” teased Viktor, tapping Yuuri’s nose with an index finger. “Ah, Yurio! Glad you could make it!” Viktor’s attention had done a complete 180-degree shift. _Did he forget I was standing here watching this happen?_ “Have you met my lovely fiancé?” He gestured to the ever-blushing Yuuri.

“Yes, we’ve met,” said Yuri, suppressing a chuckle. Tipsy Viktor was pretty entertaining.

“Oh _good!_ ” slurred Viktor. “He’s just _wonderful_ , isn’t he?” He nuzzled Yuuri’s neck, making the shorter boy laugh.

Yuri shook his head, a little embarrassed by public displays of affection. He had to admit, though, they did make a nice couple.

“Well don’t let us keep you,” said Yuuri between giggles. “Go get some food and enjoy yourself, okay? Vitya, that tickles!”

Yuri slowly moved away from the canoodling couple, following the delicious scent emanating from the far side of the room. He helped himself to a bowl of katsudon and a cup of hot sencha tea rather than sake, eyes sweeping the dining room. _Where do I even start?_ He eventually decided on the table with one of the skaters whose names he actually remembered: Leo, the one who had been wearing his hair in a top-knot when they met (who, funnily enough, was wearing his hair down tonight). There was another familiar face he couldn’t quite attach a name to, as well as two team members he wasn’t sure he’d met.

“Have a seat!” said the familiar face happily when he saw Yuri, gesturing to the cushion on the floor next to him. “Have you tried the katsudon yet? It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

“Oh, for sure, erm…” said Yuri, pausing as he tried to remember the boy’s name.

“Ah, it’s Phichit,” he said. “Of course, you remember Leo.” Leo raised his cup in acknowledgement. The black eye Yuri remembered from their first encounter had healed into a yellowish color. “And I’m not sure if you’ve met my other teammates.”

“Seung-Gil Lee,” said a brooding, black-haired young man, extending his hand. “I play defense, sometimes right wing.”

“Great,” said Yuri, shaking his hand. “I have no idea what that means.”

The smaller boy next to him spat out a little of his sake, concealing quiet giggles behind his hand. Despite himself, Yuri grinned a bit and chuckled with him. This was yet another person that didn’t look anything like what Yuri expected a hockey player to look like – he was tiny, almost the same height as Yuri, with delicate hands and a sweet, unassuming smile. _He’d probably make a good figure skater,_ thought Yuri. Once he composed himself, the boy extended his own hand. “My name’s Guang-Hong Ji.”

“Do you also play defense and right wing? Is there a left wing?” _What’s gotten into me? I haven’t even had any sake and I’m suddenly cracking jokes?_

“Yes, I play defense,” answered Guang-Hong, his cheeks reddening slightly as he scratched the side of his face nervously. “And there is a left wing, sometimes I play left _and_ right.”

“He’s ambidextrous,” explained Phichit.

“Whoa, slow down. This is my first hockey lesson, that sounds like at least intermediate-level stuff. Let me graduate from the beginner’s class first,” joked Yuri. Phichit, Seung-Gil, and Guang-Hong all laughed, while Leo just seemed to sulk.

“Leo, lighten up,” said Phichit, nudging him. “You can’t be mad at the guest of honor!”

“Yeah, Leo,” said Yuri, basically accepting the fact that he was casually conversing with these guys. “No need to be grumpy.”

“I’m not,” grumbled Leo, taking a swig of his drink.

“Aww, c’mon Grouchy-pants,” said Guang-Hong, nudging him from the other side. “Yurio doesn’t bite.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Leo. “He just antagonizes people into treating their teammates like shit.”

_…so that’s his problem._ A hot angry feeling flashed through Yuri at that moment. It wasn’t _his_ fault that their team captain was acting like an asshole. He was incredibly tempted to tell Leo off – who was this guy to blame Yuri for something that wasn’t his fault? He wanted to conjure up the dirtiest words and the most biting insults he could…but something was stopping him. As enticing as it was, he couldn’t quite conjure it up. Maybe it was Phichit’s friendly smile or Guang-Hong’s sweet shyness, but whatever it was he couldn’t bring himself to express his anger. _They’re bewitching you, Yuri, abort mission!_

“Leo, you know that’s not his fault,” said Phichit, almost as if he were chastising Leo. “Otabek alone is responsible for his actions, not Yurio.”

“I swear I didn’t do it on purpose,” added Yuri. He surprised himself at the level of restraint he was showing.

“Yeah, but…” began Leo.

“No buts,” said Guang-Hong. It was strange hearing almost authoritative words coming out of his mouth. “Now tell Yurio you’re sorry!”

“No way!”

“Please? For me?” Guang-Hong put on his best puppy-dog eyes, which even Yuri had to admit was oddly effective.

Leo did the best he could, but he couldn’t stop the grin that slowly crept across his face. “Alright, alright. We’re cool, Yurio.” He held out his fist, which Yuri stared at for a moment. Leo took Yuri’s hand and curled his fingers into a matching fist. “Pound it.”

Yuri bumped fists with Leo, the white-hot anger from earlier now being replaced with a feeling of camaraderie, a feeling he never thought he’d experience with another skater let alone a hockey player. _Okay, I think it’s safe to stop being surprised by all of this. They’re decent guys, I misjudged them to start, blah blah blah._

“C’mon, Chris,” whined Minami, following his older teammate across the dining room. “Can’t I have just a little sake? It’s a special occasion!”

“Sorry, Minami,” said Christophe. “You’re seventeen, I really think you should wait.”

Minami pouted. “Hmph, that’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair, kiddo,” said Christophe, patting him on the shoulder. “Have some katsudon, enjoy yourself!”

The younger athlete huffed again and sat down next to Yuri, crossing his arms defiantly. “I’ll have some when I’m good and ready!” Christophe sighed and shook his head, wandering off presumably to attend to other hosting duties. Minami waited for a moment until he was out of sight and got up quickly to get himself a bowl. “I’m good and ready now, I was just being stubborn,” he whispered to Yuri.

“Ah, I see,” said Yuri with a chuckle. He hadn’t realized that Minami was probably the closest one on the team to his age – maybe they’d have some things in common. “If it makes you feel better, I’m not having any either.” He held up his teacup.

Minami grinned. “We can watch them act drunk together, then.” He pointed at Viktor, who was currently staggering through the dining room with Yuuri trailing behind him, picking up things that Viktor was knocking over in his wake. “Viktor’s the best drunk, but Yuuri is a pretty close second. I don’t think he’s drinking tonight though, looks like he’s got his hands full.”

Yuri gave a quiet _hm_ and took a sip of his tea. Phichit and the others at the table were now engrossed in their own conversation, leaving Yuri and Minami to their own devices. _Why am I suddenly at a loss for words?_

“How have things been on the ice?”

“Oh, they’re fine,” said Yuri, deciding not to delve into his struggles. It felt like a little too detailed of a conversation to have with someone inexperienced.

“So, what’s your favorite jump? Can you land any quads?”

Yuri almost choked on his tea. “Beg pardon?”

“My sister was a figure skater growing up,” continued Minami between bites of pork cutlet, a smirk making its way onto his puffy cheeks. “Thanks to that I know a lot about both figure skating and hockey. So which ones can you land?”

“Erm, my specialty is a quad salchow,” answered Yuri skeptically. “It was the first quad I ever landed in competition, actually.”

“Neat,” answered Minami. “My sister never quite got to a triple on any of her jumps. In fact, I’m the only athlete in the family after she quit skating.”

“So, you’re pretty familiar with hockey, yeah?” asked Yuri. Minami nodded. “Can you tell me what the positions are? I’m totally clueless.”

Minami perked up and swallowed a big gulp of tea. “Sure! Let’s see…” He scanned the table and picked up a salt and pepper shaker, along with both his and Yuri’s empty teacups. He placed one cup in the middle of the table with the salt and pepper shakers on each side. The other cup was placed by the end of the table, with one chopstick on either side of it. “Okay, so this teacup is the center: he’s responsible for leading the team, kind of like a quarterback in American football.” _Another sport I know nothing about. But okay, team leader. Got it._ “The salt and pepper shaker are the right and left wing, and they help the center out on the offense. Basically moving the puck onto the other team’s side of the ice.” He pointed at the chopsticks. “These are the defensemen; their jobs are to face off against the other team’s offense. Does that make sense?”

“I think so,” said Yuri. He pointed at the other teacup. “And what’s this one?”

“That’s the goalie. He protects the goal and tries to keep the other team from shooting the puck into it. Pretty self-explanatory, right?” Minami pointed at the salt and pepper shakers. “These positions are mostly played by Viktor and Chris, Yuuri is the goalie, and the rest of us switch between defense and forward, depending on who’s playing when.”

“Which one plays center?”

“Oh, that’s Otabek. He’s also the team captain, but I guess you already knew that,” said Minami with a nervous laugh.

_Yeah, I’m familiar,_ thought Yuri bitterly.

“Yurio!” called Christophe, making his way over to them and eyeing the set-up on the table. “Looks like you guys are having a fun hockey lesson. Minami never gets to talk anyone’s ear off about hockey, so I’m sure he’s having fun.” Minami pouted a little, prompting Christophe to chuckle and tousle his hair. “Are you enjoying yourself, Yurio?”

“Yeah, I am,” said Yuri. He wasn’t lying either – he was genuinely having a good time, despite the bad day he’d had and despite his usual standoffish personality.

“That’s great, glad to hear it,” said Christophe with a wink. He paused for a moment, a twinkle in his eye. He stood in the center of the dining room and loudly cleared his throat. “Attention everyone!” All eyes were on him. “I’d like to propose a toast!” He nodded towards Yuri. “To new friends!”

“Here, here! _Hic!_ ” called Viktor, leaning against his fiancé. Yuuri raised his teacup briefly before going back to fussing and making sure Viktor was okay.

“Here, here!” called the rest of the team, raising their cups.

“To new friends,” replied Yuri, raising his bowl of katsudon since his teacup was still playing goalie on the table. The hockey players chuckled at his gesture, some raising their own bowls.

Everyone resumed their conversations, and Yuri sat back for a moment to enjoy his katsudon and survey the room. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d let himself relax around other people, let alone people he just met. These guys weren’t quite the dumb, crude jocks he assumed them to be when he first met them. Yuri may have admitted to being a little self-absorbed, but he appreciated their kindness nonetheless. He would have to find a way to make it up to them sometime.

“What the hell is this?”

The merriment suddenly died down as everyone in the room turned to face the entrance. There stood Otabek, sporting nothing but sweatpants, and old tank top, and an impressive level of bedhead. The right side of his face was imprinted from his pillow, as if he’d been laying on his side for a long time. His eyes, though tired and droopy, were affixed on Yuri in an angry glare.   

“Uh oh,” whispered Leo. “This is _bad._ ” Guang-Hong stared at the floor, eyebrows crinkled up in worry.

“Well, you see…” began Christophe, searching for the words he wanted to use. “We just, erm…”

“We invited Yurio to have dinner with us,” said Phichit, standing up confidently. Yuri was shocked, and a little impressed, at his impudence towards the man that everyone seemed to be afraid of. “He’s our friend and rink mate now, and we wanted to introduce ourselves properly and get to know him.”

“Don’t blame him for this,” interjected Christophe. “This was our idea, he had nothing to do with it.”

“I knew this would happen,” growled Otabek. “I _knew_ he would be a distraction.” He ambled to the center of the room where Yuri was sitting. Phichit didn’t move from where he stood, staring him down with an assured, poised look. He wasn’t taking any of this lying down.

“Now hold on just a second,” slurred Viktor, who seemed to have lost his goofy drunken demeanor in favor of a soberer one (sober more so in personality than level of intoxication). “Otabek, there’s no need to get angry. Yurio isn’t causing any trouble.”

“Are you drunk? For god’s sake, Viktor, look at yourself,” said Otabek. “You’re probably going to be hungover for tomorrow’s practice, am I right? You’re going to be completely useless.”

“He’ll be fine,” said Yuuri nervously. “I’m cutting him off, I’ll make sure he drinks plenty of water, I promise.”

Otabek glared, making Yuuri shrink away. “That won’t be necessary. He’s not practicing tomorrow. In fact, he’s not playing at all next weekend. I’m replacing him until he learns how to conduct himself.” His gaze swept the room, glancing at each athlete as it went. “As for the rest of you, meet in front of Ice Castle at dawn. You’ve all earned yourselves some extra off-the-ice practice. That goes double for anyone drinking.”

“Now wait just a minute!” said Yuri, standing up and stalking over to Otabek. “You’re being completely unreasonable. So what if some of us are having a drink? It’s Friday night, can’t they relax a little bit and have fun?”

“You don’t understand,” said Otabek. “You aren’t the leader of a team – you just practice for yourself. In case you haven’t noticed, this entire team is riding on my leadership.”

“Some leadership,” sneered Yuri. “I may not be a team captain, but I know that your teammates aren’t supposed to resent you.”

"Oh, you mean like yours did?” retorted Otabek. “Why else would you leave the premier figure skating program in the world? As if that means anything, just a bunch of stiff ballerinas on skates.”

"Excuse me?!” shrieked Yuri. “I’d like to see your klutzy ass do half the things I have to do in my competitions! And I don’t have an entire hardworking team to fall back on, unlike you! Tell me, when was the last time you scored a goal on your own?”

Otabek snarled and made like he was going to lunge at Yuri. Christophe and Phichit held him back, restraining him by the shoulders. “Says the little princess who abandoned his team in Tokyo.”

“Well maybe I should go back!” roared Yuri. “It’s a lot better than practicing in Hasetsu with you here! Working your teammates to the bone, throwing your weight around, who the hell do you think you are?!”

Otabek didn’t have any words, staring at Yuri with his mouth agape like a fish out of water. No one had ever talked to him this way before. Yuri groaned at full volume, stomping out of the dining room. Viktor and Yuuri followed quickly behind him while Christophe and Phichit let go of Otabek’s arms.

“Come with me,” said Christophe sternly, leading Otabek out by his sleeve with Phichit following close behind. Otabek was too shocked to argue, stumbling a little as Christophe pulled him along. Once they cleared out, the remaining team members breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“What was that all about?” whispered Guang-Hong. “I’ve never seen him get so worked up.”

"I don’t know,” said Leo. “But they weren’t joking – Yurio really does have a strange effect on Otabek.”

“I wish it was a good effect,” grumbled Minami.

Everyone miserably began to put away their dishes and help clean up the dining room, dreading the next morning. What they didn’t realize, however, was that the wheels of fortune were turning for them, preparing to bring good things their way. And it all began with what was going on upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun-dun! 
> 
> This chapter was a doozy, but I'm so glad it's finished and I'm pretty happy with it! What exciting things await us? ;)


	7. If I Can't Love Him

Yuri slammed the door of his room and threw himself onto his futon, screaming into his pillow. He was still riding the adrenaline rush of his outburst – his heart was still racing and he felt somewhat lightheaded, as if he were having an out-of-body experience. He sat up and punched his pillow, direly wishing he could be punching Otabek.

_Damn him!_

Yuri angrily wiped away the tears that began spilling down his cheeks, cursing under his breath. He hated that he couldn’t help but cry when he got angry. It made people either think he was a crybaby or made them feel sorry for him and he wasn’t sure which he despised more. It didn’t help that it was glaringly obvious when he did cry – his entire face reddened and puffed up before the tears even started falling. _Stop it, Yuri,_ he told himself. _You’re not a little kid anymore._

“Yurio? Can we come in?” It sounded like Yuuri outside his door, presumably with Viktor staggering behind him.

“Go away, please,” said Yuri curtly. The last thing he wanted was someone to see him like this, especially two people he barely knew.

“We’re not upset with you, we want to make sure you’re okay. We brought tea.” He heard a small _thump_ against the door, and still-drunk Viktor stumbled into the room, falling face-first onto the futon next to Yuri.

“Vitya!” Yuuri was at his side immediately, checking to make sure he hadn’t hurt himself. A tray teetered in his hands, balancing a teapot, cups, and some rice cakes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m alright,” said Viktor’s muffled voice, giving a thumbs-up with his face still planted firmly on the futon. “Never been better.”

“You should drink this,” said Yuuri, setting the glass of water on the floor next to him. Viktor sat up obediently and began sipping from the cup while Yuuri poured three cups of hot tea, holding one out to Yuri. “Here, it’s peppermint.”

As much as every instinct told Yuri to refuse, to tell Yuuri to go away and leave him alone, he couldn’t obey them. Every fiber of his being was against it, but he felt he must have left his pride back in Tokyo. He took the offered cup, wincing slightly when his fingers touched its hot surface. He set it on the floor next to the futon while it cooled.

Yuuri smiled. “I figured you could use a hot drink. My mom always liked to make tea for me when I cried growing up. Heh, sometimes she still does.”

“I’m _not_ crying,” snapped Yuri, crossing his arms. He sniffled a little, inwardly cursing at himself.

“Did Otabek make you cry?!” gasped Viktor, almost spilling his water. He was still a little tipsy, although lucid.

“No!” said Yuri. “He made me mad, and _that’s_ what made me cry. There’s a big difference.” Nobody ever truly accepted this explanation unfortunately, but to Yuri there was a definite distinction between the two.

Yuuri hummed understandingly, gently rubbing Yuri’s back. “I can be an angry crier myself. It’s irritating, isn’t it?” Yuri nodded, his eyes prickling with tears again. It _was_ irritating, because it was so difficult for anyone to take an angry crier seriously. He took a sip of his tea as a distraction.

“I’m so sorry he did that!” cried Viktor, throwing his arms around Yuri, almost sounding on the verge of tears himself and almost making Yuri spill his tea.

“Yeah, we’re both sorry on his behalf,” said Yuuri, bowing his head. “It’s odd – he’s not always like this.”

“You mean he’s not always an asshole? I find that very hard to believe.”

“I meant that he never usually starts a conflict like that, especially not with a stranger,” said Yuuri. “He never yells at the team like that unless we’re doing punishment drills or something.”

Viktor gasped dramatically, almost spilling his water. “Maybe he _does_ like Yurio!”

“Vitya, eat this,” said Yuuri, practically shoving a rice cake into his mouth. Viktor seemed to lose his train of thought as he began nibbling. “Don’t listen to him, Yurio, I think it’s a silly idea.”

Yuri turned his head, thankful that his face was already red from crying. They wouldn’t see that he was blushing a little at the thought. He was used to fans, especially girls, confessing their love to him over social media, mostly in the form of Instagram comments and Tweets. The particularly bold ones would send him private messages. He brushed these off, having no real interest in pursuing a romantic relationship – especially not with a girl. For some reason though, the idea of Otabek being romantically interested gave him an odd feeling, a strange mix of embarrassment and something he couldn’t quite describe outside of a fluttery feeling in his chest. Otabek wasn’t completely lacking in redeeming qualities – he was tall, good-looking despite Yuri never having seen him properly groomed, and he must have some talent or passion for hockey having risen to the rank of team captain. That last quality went a long way. Yuri shook his head as if that would clear out the thoughts. These assets aside, why would Otabek behave that way toward someone he liked? One was supposed to treat their crush nicely, right? Yuri had no idea – even as a young child, his crushes were few and far between, and were never acted upon. He never knew how to articulate these feelings towards other boys his age, not that he had time for such nonsense.

“If he does, he has a funny way of showing it,” scoffed Yuri finally. He didn’t exactly _hate_ the idea of someone like Otabek being interested in him, provided that they express their feelings like a normal person.

“That he does,” said Yuuri thoughtfully, watching Viktor finish his rice cake.

“Why does he have to treat you guys like that?” demanded Yuri. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

Viktor swallowed a gulp of water. “He’s always been like that. I knew him when I was playing junior-league hockey and he was just in pee-wee. He was a talented player even back then, although his teamwork left a lot to be desired.”               

 “He leaves a lot of qualities to be desired,” grumbled Yuri. “You guys have been so nice to me and he just comes in and shits all over it. That’s not right.”

“My,” chuckled Yuuri. “This is quite different from the Yurio we first met on the ice that day.”

Yuri just crossed his arms. “I’m not heartless.”

“Aww, little Yurio likes us!” said Viktor gleefully, throwing his arms around Yuri and snuggling against him.

“Let me go!” yelled Yuri, squirming out of Viktor’s strong grasp. Both hockey players chuckled.

“Yurio,” said Yuuri. “You didn’t mean it, did you? When you said you should go back to Tokyo?”

Yuri looked at his feet. “No, I didn’t. I was just angry when I said that. As much as I hate that Otabek, I’d much rather be here with Yakov surrounded by friends than with any other coach surrounded by strangers.”

Yuuri placed a comforting hand on the younger’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth, we’re glad you’re here.” He meant it, and he wasn’t just glad because they’d made a new friend. He was also glad because he recognized Yuri’s little blush when he’d talked about Otabek. Perhaps they might be good for each other, but only time would tell.

.:.:.:.

“Okay, I want you to _try_ and explain to me what happened out there,” said Christophe, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why the outburst?”

Otabek just stared at the floor, hands clasped in his lap. He was sitting in the armchair in his room while Christophe and Phichit stood in front of him, arms crossed. It felt oddly like a police interrogation – all that was missing was a dark room lit with a single hanging lightbulb. “I don’t know.”

“Bullshit,” said Phichit, astonishing Christophe a little. “You’ve had it out for that kid since he got here, there must be some explanation.”

“He’s a distraction-,” began Otabek before Phichit shushed him.

“I don’t want to hear it. That’s not a justification and you know it. I want the real reason.”

“I told you already, I don’t know!” cried Otabek. He was telling the truth. Deep down, he knew that the “distraction” excuse was just that: an excuse. He just didn’t know what it was an excuse for.

“Alright, fine,” said Christophe. “We’ll come back to that one. Let’s try this – what made you stop?

“Excuse me?”

“He left you speechless at the end of your little quarrel. Pardon my curiosity, but I’ve never seen you let someone else get the last word so easily.”

Otabek looked at his hands, clenching and unclenching them distractedly. “I don’t know that either.”

“Otabek, I want you to _really_ try and dig deep here,” said Christophe, entering what he called “camp counselor mode.” It had worked with countless peewee hockey kids, so surely it would work on an emotionally immature twenty-one-year-old.

“Maybe,” said Otabek, pausing as he searched for the right words. “Maybe it was what he said to me? Something about going back to Tokyo.”

 Phichit snapped his fingers. “Now we’re getting somewhere. See what we can accomplish when you verbalize your feelings?”

“Don’t condescend to me, Chulanont,” grumbled Otabek. “I’m still your captain.”

“Let’s stay focused here,” said Christophe. He kneeled next to Otabek. “Yurio said something about going back to Tokyo and that’s where the discussion ended. Do you want him to go back to Tokyo?”

Otabek didn’t look at his teammate, even when Christophe gently placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I…don’t know.”

“You aren’t saying no,” said Christophe. “That must mean something, right?”

“I guess.”

Phichit gave a satisfied little _hm_. “I’m going to choose to take that as a ‘yes.’”

Otabek scoffed. “Fine, maybe I don’t want him to leave. Maybe I’m jealous that he gets along so well with the rest of you while he and I got off on the wrong foot. Happy?”

“Yes,” said Christophe decidedly. “Otabek, it’s not too late to start over with him! He’s only been here for a week, there’s absolutely time to patch things up!”

“I don’t know,” Otabek said again. “It’s been so long since I tried to connect with someone like that, I don’t know if I can anymore.”

“Like what?” asked Phichit.

Otabek’s cheeked reddened a little. “Like, individually. When was the last time you saw me trying to make friends?”

“Probably since you got dumped,” deadpanned Phichit, making Otabek scowl.

Christophe sighed and buried his face in one hand. “Phichit, I cannot believe you just said that.”

Phichit shrugged. “It’s true. Maybe that’s the kind of interpersonal relationship he wants with Yurio.”

This statement made Otabek fly to his feet. “That’s not true!” The blush on his cheeks grew and covered his entire face, spreading as far as his ears.

Christophe and Phichit exchanged a look, then turned their quizzical eyes back on their captain. “You don’t mean to tell me that you’ve got a crush on Yurio, do you?” asked Christophe.

“No way! I’ve never had a crush on a guy! At least…”

“At least what?”

“…at least not until now,” he muttered. “It feels like the first time I met Ava. Before things went downhill. That was the best time we had together. And…when I think about Yurio it reminds me a lot of back then. I don’t know, do you think I’m crushing?”

“Sounds like a crush to me,” said Phichit. Otabek scowled, his blush deepening.

“Come on now, there’s nothing wrong with that,” said Christophe. “Crushing on a guy isn’t really all that different than crushing on a girl. There is something wrong with the way you’re going about it, though.”

“I don’t know what to do,” he answered, hands outstretched in front of him. “Ava always made the first move, not me, and I’ve never been with anyone else. And there’s no way he’ll make any advances towards me after the way I’ve treated him. He probably hates me.”

“It’s been one week!” said Christophe incredulously. “For goodness sakes, it’s not like this relationship is already a lost cause!”

Otabek stood up. “Either way, I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can!” said Phichit encouragingly. “It’s time to move on, I think. You deserve to be happy for once, and I think you might be able to find it with Yurio. At least as friends.”

“You think so?” Was that hopefulness they detected in his eyes?

“It’s worth a try, no?”

He sat down, turning his head slightly to conceal a small smile. It didn’t go unnoticed by his two underlings, however, who exchanged another knowing glance. Otabek looked back at them. “How do I even begin to patch things up with him? I don’t know if he’ll want to talk to me after the scene I made.”

“Leave that to us,” said Phichit, a gleam in his eye. “I’ve got an idea. I’ll see what we can do tonight, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow after practice.” Otabek nodded, feeling giddy. With that, Phichit and Christophe showed themselves out. The two young men both let out a sigh once they were in the hallway.

“Alright, go ahead,” said Christophe.

“Go ahead and what?”

“Say ‘I told you so.’ You were right all along.”

Phichit chuckled. “I know. Now’s not the time. I’m far too excited at the prospect of having Otabek back.”

Christophe put both hands up to his head. “I didn’t even think about that. Oh my God, it might actually feel like we have a leader again. We could have a shot at the playoffs!” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Do you really think they’ll hit it off? How are we going to get them together?”

Phichit rested his chin on his thumb and index finger thoughtfully. “I’ve got a few ideas of how we could make this work.” He took out his phone and texted Yuuri, asking him to meet up in the dining room to exchange ideas. Hopefully he and Viktor would have some input on Yurio that could be helpful. “If Yurio has that kind of an effect on him, I think we can get them to connect pretty easily. It’s just a matter of getting them alone together…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! This one took me a while to write, but it's ready and I'm fairly happy with it ^^ If I decide to make edits, I'll be sure to include notes at the beginning. 
> 
> Be sure to check out my Tumblr @Nyuuhime (having a little trouble embedding a link >.<) I mostly just reblog things that interest me but I'm planning on writing some headcanons for this story!


	8. Entr'acte/Wolf Chase

Yuri yawned, his breath forming a puffy cloud in front of his face. He checked his phone again. It was 4:57 am – where was everyone? He opened his messenger app.

**Yuuri Katsuki: yurio! we want to invite you to one of our team runs! we usually meet @ 5am, so we understand if that’s too early ^_^; the captain won’t be going, so no worries there**

**Yuri Plisetsky: sure, where do you wanna meet?**

**Yuuri Katsuki: in front of ice castle! so can we expect you tomorrow morning??**

**Yuri Plisetsky: yea, i could use the cardio for sure**

**Yuuri Katsuki: great! we’ll see what kind of turnout we have, some might be too tired. vitya is a pretty heavy sleeper ** **>. <**

So, he wasn’t too early or too late. The time was now 5:01, still no one to be found. Yuri had figured there would at least be one or two early birds out of eight other people. _Hmph, how rude. They invite me, and no one shows up._ He stopped himself, not wanting to speak ill of them. He knew they probably didn’t do it on purpose – perhaps they were all exhausted from practice the night before. He knew how the captain was. He turned up his nose at the thought.

Two weeks had passed since the incident in the dining room, the Christmas and New Year’s holidays passing without much fanfare. Thankfully, even though his performance had been lacking, Yakov could see that Yuri was working hard – he volunteered more than his fair share of time with the rink staff, and he was clearly trying even though he didn’t have as much progress as he would have liked to show for it. Yakov had decided that the trial period was over, and that Yuri could stay in Hasetsu on the condition that he would be sent back to Tokyo at Yakov’s discretion if needed. “You’re on thin ice, Yuri…don’t laugh at that, it wasn’t meant to be a joke!” he had said. “The second I notice any slacking, you’re gone. Understood?”

In between his practices and volunteering, Yuri had formed quite the bond with his new comrades. The team had invited him to their celebrations, and he had gladly accepted their offers on the condition that Otabek wouldn’t be present. He thoroughly enjoyed his time with them, growing closer with them without interference from their captain. It was surprising how much he’d learned about them in that time – everyone was from a different country, save for Yuuri and Minami, all with very different backgrounds in sports. Almost all of them had played on their school teams, some even doubling up with independent leagues. Guang-Hong hadn’t even started off as a player; he was the water boy until he decided to bite the bullet and try out. Then there was Christophe (or Chris, as Yuri had been trying to start calling him), who had gotten a full athletic scholarship to Michigan State University. Seung-Gil was the most surprising, having switched from field hockey to ice hockey mid-season because of his coach leaving only to find out that he liked it better. Yuri found himself more and more intrigued by this group and their stories – maybe one day his interest would stop surprising him.

His phone vibrated – he was getting another text message from Mila. _Why in the world is she up this early?_ He skimmed through the long message to discover that it wasn’t much different than any of the other ones she’d been sending since he left Tokyo: asking him how things were going, generally being concerned with his well-being. He typically responded with one-word answers, not willing to engage with her now that he was trying to focus less on the life he’d left behind and more on the present. This time, he swiped his thumb across the screen and dismissed the notification. _Troublesome old hag._

“Yurio?”

Yuri sighed in relief. “There you are, I was afraid everyone had forgotten.” He turned around and immediately scowled. “What are _you_ doing here?!”

Otabek stood alone at the top of the steps, wearing wrinkled sweats and a beanie atop his messy head of hair. Yuri looked him up and down, feeling the stark contrast with his own red and blue tracksuit and matching ear warmer. Otabek’s haggard appearance was the least surprising aspect of his visage – the most surprising was the embarrassed look on his face, very different from the glower that was so ubiquitous that Yuri realized he wouldn’t have been able to picture him looking any other way. “I’m here to jog. With you.”

“Where are the others?” demanded Yuri.

“I gave them the morning off,” answered Otabek. “I figured they deserve a break once in a while.”

“Yuuri told me you wouldn’t be here.” Yuri crossed his arms. “You put him up to this, didn’t you?” Was Otabek going to confront Yuri without the rest of the team to act as a buffer? Was he going to threaten Yuri? The figure skater’s head spun with possibilities.

“No no, nothing like that,” said Otabek with a frantic wave of his hand. Yuri really didn’t know how to process Otabek’s behavior – there had to be some ulterior motive. “It was actually their idea.”

_Damn them, I thought they were my friends._ “Well what’s so important that you had to trick me into coming here?”

“I just want to talk.”

“Hmph,” said Yuri, putting in his earbuds. “You can talk while we’re running, if you’re so insistent. I didn’t get up at this ungodly hour for nothing.” He took off, pulling his ear warmer down and cranking up the volume on his music. Otabek started after him, his longer legs making it easy to keep up with Yuri’s fast pace.

“At least give me a chance!” called Otabek. Yuri couldn’t quite make out what he was saying through the music, smirking as he listened to Otabek’s muffled voice. “Slow down, Yurio!” Otabek reached out and yanked on the cord, pulling Yuri’s earbuds out.

That was a mistake.

Yuri stopped abruptly and whirled around, eyes aflame. “Don’t _ever_ do that! Jeez…”

“Sorry,” said Otabek, holding both hands up.

“Seriously, that’s a huge pet peeve of mine.”

A familiar angry scowl flashed across Otabek’s face. “Well if we’re going to talk then you have to listen.”

“I don’t _have_ to do anything,” retorted Yuri. “I was invited here under false pretenses, so why should I listen to anything you have to say?”

“Look, I don’t want you to keep being mad at me,” said Otabek. “This was the only way I could think of to get us together one-on-one.”

“Hmph,” scoffed Yuri. “I’m not the mad one here.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Yuri started jogging again, Otabek following slightly behind him. “You heard me. You’re the one with a chip on your shoulder. You started the argument on my first day on the ice.”

“Hold on, that was _not_ our first fight,” said Otabek, starting to get out of breath. Was his cardio really that bad?

“Oh, forgive me,” said Yuri sarcastically. “Our actual first fight was in the dining room when you started fussing at me for no reason.”

“Are you forgetting – _hah –_ that you’re the one who ran into me and didn’t apologize?” Otabek was getting tired, even at a slower pace. “ _Hah_ – I think that’s what started this whole thing.”

Yuri smirked. “Looks like the big scary captain hasn’t been doing his own drills.”

“Shut…up,” he said between gasps. He slowed down a little bit, which compelled Yuri to slow down too.

“So what if I did bump into you? Didn’t you snap at me after that?”

Otabek clutched his side, nursing the stitch that started gnawing at his ribs. “Yeah, but-,”

“No buts,” said Yuri, turning around to start running backwards – partly to talk to him face-to-face, but also to taunt him. “I maintain that this is mostly your fault.”

“Fine!” shouted Otabek. “ _Hah –_ But I’m trying to reconcile with you and you’re not hearing me out!”

Yuri turned around and started running regularly again. “I’m not hearing an apology.”

“ _Hah –_ what?”

“You’re trying to reconcile without apologizing.”

Otabek stopped, leaning over with his hands on his knees. “I’m sorry, okay?”

Yuri stopped when he realized that Otabek wasn’t following him – he reared back and faced him with crossed arms, guarded both physically and mentally. “Sorry for what?”

“For…losing my temper?”

“And?”

“Being so harsh on the team?”

_“And?”_ Yuri tapped his foot and looked at his wrist as if he were checking a watch, just to be a smartass. _Am I being too mean? Hm…no, I think this is just the right amount of sarcasm._

Otabek held his arms out, palms up. “What else is there?”

Yuri smirked. “I think that pretty much covers everything, I just wanted to see what else you came up with.”

Otabek growled. “You little shit.”

“Heh, you know it,” said Yuri, sticking his tongue out. His feelings toward Otabek softened a little, just enough to tolerate his presence. However, Yuri didn’t quite feel ready to forgive him completely – he had to earn that. He started running again, picking up the pace.

“Slow down!” called Otabek, begrudgingly following him. “I’m not in as good of shape as you!”

“And whose fault is that?” asked Yuri in a singsong voice. “You really should be doing more drills with your team. No wonder your playing has sucked lately.”

“How do you know that? I haven’t seen you at any of our games!”

“You’re forgetting that I’m friends with the rest of your team,” said Yuri over his shoulder. “They all agree, you’ve been off for a while.”

Otabek looked down at the sidewalk going by under his feet. “I – _hah –_ I didn’t know they talked about me like that…”

“Really?” asked Yuri. “You clearly don’t listen to them, then.”

“I’ve never heard them talk like that before,” said Otabek. “ _Hah_ – I’m around them all the time.”

Yuri raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think they’d shit-talk you within earshot? They’re scared of you.”

“They are?”

“Well, I don’t think Phichit is,” said Yuri. The memory of Phichit standing up to Otabek in the dining room still stood out in Yuri’s mind as being one of the most courageous things he’d ever seen. “But the rest of them definitely are. Can you blame them?”

“I guess – _hah –_ I can’t, can I?” Otabek slowed his pace. “I guess – _hah_ – a team shouldn’t be afraid of their captain, should they?”

_Took you this long to figure it out, eh? Jeez, how can you be so dense?_ “You ought to be more compassionate. They work their asses off and you don’t appreciate them at all.” It felt pretty good to give Otabek a piece of his mind.

“Oh whatever,” retorted Otabek. “You’re no – _hah_ – saint yourself.”

“Ah ah ah,” said Yuri, waggling an index finger. He pointed at himself. “Solo figure skater.” Then he pointed at Otabek. “ _Team_ captain. You guys have to work together; I just have to worry about my routine. There’s a big difference.”

“ _Hah_ – maybe you should try pair skating,” said Otabek. “That ought to – _hah_ – teach you some teamwork.” Yuri could practically hear the smirk in his words.

“With who, you?” chuckled Yuri. _Tread lightly,_ he told himself. _Don’t let your guard down._ “On those clunky things you call skates?”

“Hmph,” said Otabek disdainfully. “Better than those flimsy things _you_ call skates.”

Yuri glanced back to shoot him a quizzical look. He thought they were just joking around with each other – there was a little too much venom in Otabek’s tone for his taste. “Sorry, jeez.”

“At least I don’t wear froufrou little outfits with tutus,” he continued, his voice growing in volume with each word.

“Um, I don’t?” said Yuri. “You don’t know anything about figure skating, do you?”

“I know that the sport, if you could even call it that, is overrun with brats like you!”

Oh that was _it._

“What the _fuck_ is your problem?!” said Yuri, speeding up. “Can’t you just chill for one second of your life?”

“Wait, Yuri,” began Otabek before being cut off.

“No, I won’t wait. This is what your problem is, you know that?” _Oh boy, no stopping it now._ “You take everything way too personally. I was just joking with you and you started insulting me.” He sped up even more as he got more and more worked up.

“Yuri, just let me-,”

“ _No!_ I don’t know why I even gave you this chance! You’ve proven to me time and time again that you’re not capable of behaving yourself, so just leave me alone!” Yuri went to cross the street as he was saying this, not realizing that he was a few yards short of the crosswalk he thought he was at.

“Yuri, look out!”

It all happened so quickly. Yuri failed to notice the oncoming headlights in his fit of rage. It was a moment that Yuri would play in his head over and over after the fact, remembering every tiny detail: Otabek’s wide-eyed, terrified expression as he darted toward him, the impact of Otabek’s shoulder in his gut, crashing to the sidewalk in a tangled heap, Yuri’s heart beating so fast he thought it would jump up out of his throat. The driver of the car blared the horn angrily as he passed them, having slammed on the brakes when he saw the two barreling across the road.

 “Damn it,” groaned Otabek. “You need to be more careful.” He sat up, casting a sideways glance at Yuri as he waited for a smart-ass response. His expression changed to one of alarm when he saw Yuri clutching his chest, gasping for air. “Yuri what’s the matter?!”

“I…” Yuri’s words came out in a wheeze. His chest felt tight, as if there was a thousand-pound weight on top of him. It was made worse with a sharp, stabbing pain right behind his sternum. _Am I having a heart attack?_ “I can’t breathe…” His hands trembled as he cradled his head, swallowing the bile that rose up in his throat.

Otabek hesistantly kneeled next to Yuri and gently placed a comforting hand on Yuri’s back. “It’s okay, you’re safe now,” he whispered. “We’re on the sidewalk and there aren’t any more cars around. I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

Yuri leaned into Otabek’s arm, wrapping it around his shoulder and leaning into Otabek’s chest as he tried to calm himself down. _His heart’s pounding too._

“Try and steady your breathing,” continued Otabek. “Follow me, okay?” He inhaled deeply through his nose and held it for a few seconds. Yuri did his best, only being able to take shallow breaths at first, but after several minutes he was able to compose himself again. His heart slowed down to a much gentler pace, though it still felt like it was pounding way too hard.

“Better?”

“A little, yeah,” said Yuri, standing up and swaying on his feet a little. He mentally checked himself – nothing seemed to be seriously hurt. His head was uninjured, thank goodness, his legs seemed okay, and his shoulder only hurt a little, probably from his impact with the ground. He windmilled his arm a few times to make sure he still had some range of motion with it, which he thankfully did. Yuri glanced at the hockey player still sitting on the pavement, a look of immense relief on his face. “Are you okay?” Yuri extended his hand.

“I think so,” said Otabek, graciously accepting Yuri’s offered hand. He was pulled to his feet and immediately grimaced. “My ankle!” He immediately shifted his weight to his left unhurt leg.

“Let me see,” said Yuri. He squatted down, squinting as he rolled up the leg of Otabek’s sweatpants. “I can’t see anything out here. C’mon, let’s go back to the inn. Can you walk?”

Otabek took a few cautious steps, wincing with each footfall on his left leg. “It hurts,” he whimpered. Yuri had to turn his head away so Otabek wouldn’t see him blush – the big scary captain of the hockey team looked like a hurt puppy.

“Here,” said Yuri, taking Otabek’s arm and slinging it over his shoulder. “Try not to put so much weight on it.” The two began awkwardly hobbling toward their destination. The height difference made it difficult for Otabek to lean against Yuri – it took several missteps with his bad ankle before they started to get the hang of it.

“Good thing we had to keep stopping for you to catch your breath,” joked Yuri. “Otherwise we’d have a longer walk back.”

“Very funny,” grumbled Otabek. Yuri couldn’t help but detect a little playful inflection in his voice.

“Y’know,” said Yuri. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen you when you weren’t angry.”

Otabek hummed thoughtfully. “Doesn’t earlier count? I wasn’t angry when we started the run.”

“True,” conceded Yuri. “You got there pretty quickly though.”

“Also true,” said Otabek, looking at the ground sheepishly. “I guess that’s something I need to work on, huh?”

“It couldn’t hurt,” said Yuri. “C’mon, don’t drag your feet. We’re almost there.” Otabek picked himself up a little and tried to match Yuri’s pace. The remainder of the walk back to the inn was fairly quiet, save for a few exchanges regarding their synchronization, or lack thereof. They stumbled a few times, but eventually made it back to the front door of Yu-topia Katsuki. The two boys staggered into the foyer together, where Otabek lowered himself rather ungracefully into a nearby chair.

“Finally,” he said, pulling his shoe and sock off and rolling up his pants leg. “I don’t like the looks of that,” he said grimly.

“Let me look,” said Yuri, kneeling in front of the chair. Otabek’s ankle was unquestionably swollen. It was also a little redder than it should have been, but it didn’t look like there was any bruising. “How much does it hurt?”

“Well it-hey!” said Otabek, hissing and jerking his leg out of Yuri’s grasp when he applied light pressure to his ankle. “Careful with that!”

“Suck it up,” said Yuri, sticking his tongue out to make sure Otabek knew he wasn’t being mean (or, at least, meaner than he had to be). Yuri took the ankle back and resumed the checkup. “Answer the question.”

“It hurts,” said Otabek.

“How much?”

He winced again when Yuri put pressure on the injury again but didn’t yank his foot away. “I don’t know, maybe like a five out of ten?”

“Five is okay,” said Yuri decidedly. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” Within two or three minutes, Yuri had gone back to his room and returned with his first aid kit. He opened the plastic container, on which he had painted tiny tigers and jaguars and other various jungle cats, and revealed an assortment of colorful rolls of athletic tape, bandages, hot and cold packs, topical treatments, and pain relievers. He had amassed his collection over several years and was quite proud of it.

 “What are you, an athletic trainer?” asked Otabek skeptically.

“I do a lot of research on this kind of stuff,” said Yuri. He kneeled in front of Otabek and took out a roll of pre-wrap, patting his thigh. “Put your foot here.” Otabek complied hesitantly. “I got tired of going to the athletic trainers growing up, so I started learning how to wrap my own injuries. It’s not hard – you can find out how to do anything on the internet these days.”

“Thanks in advance for the pre-wrap,” said Otabek awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. “I’ve been treated by medics who didn’t use it and the tape was always a pain in the ass to take off.”

“It’s like a free leg waxing,” said Yuri. “Too bad you didn’t ask for it, right?” Otabek stifled a chuckle. Yuri hid a small grin. _He’s cute when he’s embarrassed. Wait, what?_

“I didn’t even realize that figure skaters get injured that much,” said Otabek.

Yuri raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re joking, right?”

“I just assumed-,”

“Ever heard of Nancy Kerrigan?”

Otabek frowned. “That doesn’t count, someone bashed her leg with a pipe.”

“Good catch, I didn’t think you’d know that,” said Yuri, a smirk playing at his lips. “Still, have you even watched figure skating? You don’t get to the level of performing really advanced jumps without getting a few injuries.”

“I’ve caught it on the Olympics,” said Otabek defensively. “They always land their jumps.”

“Not always,” said Yuri as-a-matter-of-factly. “I’ve rolled ankles, twisted knees, hurt wrists…”

“Wrists?”

Yuri nodded. “Yep. Ever fallen and tried to catch yourself?”

Otabek looked off pensively. “I guess I never really thought about figure skating that much.”

“I’ve never thought much about hockey either, so I guess that makes us even,” said Yuri playfully. He picked up his container and held it up to Otabek. “Which color tape do you want?”

“Oh jeez, I don’t know,” said Otabek somewhat frantically. _Heh, so he’s not the type to make quick decisions._ “Why do you have so many?”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Yuri. “If you don’t pick one soon, I’m picking for you.”

“Fine, whatever, I don’t have a preference,” said Otabek. Yuri gave a small _hm_ and set the container back down. Otabek picked at his fingernails distractedly as Yuri continued his ministrations. “What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?”

Yuri put an index finger to his chin thoughtfully. “Let’s see…probably the time I messed up my hip at a competition. I didn’t need surgery or anything, but I was out of commission for a while. Needed physical therapy and everything.”

“Wow,” said Otabek.

“Yeah, I still have pain down the side of my leg from time to time,” continued Yuri. “No amount of tape can fix that.”

“Have you tried kinesiology tape?” asked Otabek. “It’s good for support. You don’t have to wrap it or anything, just follow the instructions on the packaging. It lasts for days, you can bathe with it and everything.”

“I’ve heard of it, never tried it,” said Yuri. “I think I saw it on the Olympics too. Beach volleyball, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“It doesn’t look like much, but it actually works better than you’d think,” said Otabek. “I had to go to therapy too and they swear by the stuff.”

Yuri sat quietly for a moment as he worked. “What did you have to go for?”

“Oh,” said Otabek. “I separated my right shoulder, really messed up my AC joint. It wasn’t torn or anything, thank goodness. That could’ve put me out of playing for good.”

“You probably use your shoulders more than I do,” remarked Yuri. “Did that mess up your puck-handling?”

Otabek grinned a little. “I’m ambidextrous, so I just switched and got pretty good at playing left-dominant. Now I can switch at the drop of the hat.”

Yuri smiled too, feeling the heat rising on his cheeks. _Easy boy,_ he told himself. _Just because he’s talking about something he cares about doesn’t mean you have to get all hot and bothered._ “You know,” he said, trying to push the thought out of his mind. “This is the most we’ve ever talked without dissolving into an argument.”

“You’re right,” said Otabek. “We’re crossing all sorts of milestones today, aren’t we?”

“Seems like it,” said Yuri. He paused for a long time, trying to find the right words. “Otabek, I…”

“You what?”

“I…wanted to thank you. For earlier,” said Yuri slowly. “You really got me through that panic attack. That’s never happened to me before, I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” said Otabek, his already-pink face becoming a little redder.

“Where did you learn that?” asked Yuri. “I mean, no offense, but you never struck me as the nurturing type.”

He shrugged. “None taken. I’ve seen Chris do it when Yuuri has anxiety attacks. I’ve never done it myself, but I’m glad it worked today.”

“Me too,” said Yuri. He laid the final piece of tape and sat back to admire his work. “There, that ought to do it.”

“Thanks Yu…hey wait!” said Otabek. “What kind of tape is this?” He pointed at his foot, which was wrapped in light purple tape with tiny blue and pink daisies printed on them.

Yuri stuck his tongue out playfully. “You didn’t have a preference, remember? Aren’t they cute?”

 “Next time I’ll ask for black,” grumbled Otabek.

“That’s so boring,” joked Yuri. “Besides, tape is tape. It’ll work just as good as any other color.” He stood up and extended a hand. “Can you put weight on it?”

Otabek stood up gingerly and put his foot down. “A bit, yeah.”

Yuri took a cold pack out of his kit and gave it to him. “Go back to your room and prop up your ankle on some pillows. Rest, ice, compression, elevation.”

“I know, R.I.C.E.,” said Otabek.

“Take off the wrap later and soak it in the hot springs,” continued Yuri. “We’ll look at it in a few hours and decide what to do from there. If it’s not any better, you might need to go to the doctor.”

“Ugh, I hope not,” shuddered Otabek. “Wait, what about practice this morning?”

“No sir,” said Yuri. “You’re on strict bedrest, Nurse Plisetsky’s orders. Chris and Viktor will handle it just fine without you. I’ll even text them and tell them what’s going on if you want.”

“No, I can do it,” said Otabek, almost in a resigned way. “I’m the captain, I can at least tell them myself.”

_Thank god,_ thought Yuri. _I didn’t want to have to deal with them grilling me about how it went this morning. He can handle that, as punishment for being complicit in their little scheme._

“Alright, up to bed you go,” said Yuri. He shooed him down the hallway, following close behind.

“Hey, go easy on me,” laughed Otabek as he hobbled toward his room.

“Go on,” said Yuri with a mischievous grin. “I’m not going anywhere until I see you go in.”

Otabek limped into his room, setting up his pillows and propping up his ankle. “Happy?”

Yuri nodded, standing in the doorway. “Very. Now stay there.” He closed the door behind him and listened for any movement behind it. When he didn’t hear any, he decided that his work was done and started toward his own room. He had been so focused on getting back to the inn safely and patching up the injury that he didn’t realize how tired he was. Now that the excitement was over, his exhaustion was catching up to him. _Man, that panic attack really took it out of me._ He checked his phone – it was 6:17 am. He didn’t need to be at the rink until nine o’clock when the hockey team was finished and he wasn’t scheduled to volunteer until after his practice. _I think I’ve earned a nap._

He shuffled down the hallway, choosing to ignore the cracked doorways and heads poking out of rooms to peer at him. _I guess there won’t be any avoiding their questions. I’ll deal with it later_. He entered his room and flopped down on his futon.

_What a morning,_ he thought as his eyelids grew heavy. He replayed the memory of Otabek calming him down over and over again, remembering the warmth of his chest, his natural musky scent mixed with his deodorant. His calming words. His vulnerability. His excitement when talking about something he was passionate about.

Yuri rolled over and smiled. _Maybe he’s got some positive aspects after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! This chapter took me a long time, but it's up and I'm happy with it. I hope everyone enjoys :)
> 
> As always, find me @NyuuHime on Tumblr!


	9. Gaston

Mila looked at her phone for what felt like the hundredth time in five minutes, sighing when it didn’t display any new notifications. Yuri wasn’t usually this slow to reply. He didn’t even have the excuse of it being early in the morning because he left her on read. _That brat,_ she thought. _First he barely talks to me, now he just straight-up ignores me._

“Are you expecting a call or something?” asked Sara, scooting up next to Mila.

“A text,” answered Mila, refreshing her messaging app. Still nothing.

“From Yuri, right?” Sara smirked a little, nudging her friend.

“Knock it off, it’s not like that,” said Mila irritably. Yuri and Mila ragged on each other like brother and sister, which everyone seemed to misconstrue as romantic attraction. It was annoying.

“I know, I’m just teasing,” said Sara. “Still, you probably ought to put your phone away before Celestino sees you. We’re supposed to be watching, remember?”

Mila sighed and reluctantly tucked her phone into the deep pocket of her heavy coat. She tried to shift her attention to the ice, where JJ was performing his short program. He was skating to a piece called “Theme of King JJ,” a song he’d co-created with a world-famous rock band. She smirked to herself, imagining what Yuri would say if he heard it. _“Of course he has a song named after him! Classic Jean-Jacques Leroy, being so extra that he has to write the music for his own short program.”_

 “He’s so passionate,” said Sara in a breathy voice, resting her chin in her hand wistfully.

“Really? He seems off to me,” said Mila. It was true – there was none of the usual zeal that JJ poured into every performance. He was stumbling on his footwork, barely landing his jumps, and his overall performance just seemed jaded. Even his facial expressions seemed dampened, as if someone had used a dimmer switch on him and turned him down to the lowest setting.

JJ finished his performance with a half-hearted flourish and weak applause scattered amongst the skaters on the bleachers. He skated to the edge of the rink where Celestino was waiting to give him pointers and critique the program. Some skaters broke into conversation, while JJ’s posse watched on nervously.

“This can’t be good,” said Mickey, sitting behind Sara and Mila. “There’s no way that was even close to his personal best.”

“Are they even issuing points for these?” asked Emil.

“Why not? We’re treating this like the real thing, aren’t we?” answered Mickey.

“This is so unlike him,” remarked Sara, tenting her hands nervously. She gazed worriedly down to the edge of the rink, where JJ took his criticism with a hang-dog look on his face.

Once Celestino was finished, he called the next skater – Georgi – to the ice to perform his short program. JJ put a pair of guards on the blades of his skates and trudged over to where his posse was sitting in the second row of bleachers.

“That was great, JJ!” said Mickey. “You knocked ‘em dead out there!”

“That was a perfect triple!” added Emil frantically, knowing well that it had been a failed quad attempt. It was almost painful how transparent they were being.

JJ sighed dramatically. “I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, men. But I’m afraid the iron has entered my soul.”

It took all of Mila’s willpower not to snort. What was he on about?

“What’re you talking about?” asked Emil. “You were brilliant!” Emil was not a good liar, and judging by his tone even he couldn’t believe what he was saying. 

Mickey elbowed Emil in the ribs to shut him up before he started babbling. “What Emil means is that we thought you did a fine job, even though it might not have been up to par with your normal level of performance. But you’ve got time to really raise the bar!”

Sara giggled a little, turning around to face the trio. “You’re a good hype man, Mickey.”  

“I appreciate it, gentlemen,” said JJ. “But something just isn’t right, and I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Celestino shot a glare towards the chattering group, and everyone froze up. As he slowly turned his gaze back to the ice, the group cautiously began whispering again.

“JJ, you gotta quit being so hard on yourself,” murmured Mickey. “Name any skater in here, and I guarantee they’d give anything to be you.”

“Oh you’re just saying that,” said JJ, a barely concealed smile starting to grow. _Careful, Mickey,_ thought Mila. _If his head gets any bigger it might explode._

“It’s true!” added Emil. “Nobody can do quads like you can!”

_Yuri can,_ thought Mila bitterly. She slid her phone out of her pocket and checked her notifications. Still nothing.

“Plus nobody is as passionate as you on the ice,” piped up Sara. Mila knew _that_ was a lie, especially after one look at Georgi performing on the ice – everything from his makeup right down to his facial expressions and wild gesticulations conveyed a passion that nobody could match.

“I do try to pour my heart and soul into every show,” mused JJ, his thumb and index finger placed thoughtfully on his chin. _Again, I think that distinction goes to Georgi,_ thought Mila.

“Don’t even get me started on your step sequence,” said Mickey. “I _wish_ mine could be as smooth as yours!”

JJ gave an arrogant little _hm._ “This is also true.”

Mila shook her head dismissively as the conversation continued, trying to block out everyone inflating JJ’s ego. _As if it needed the boost,_ she thought. She focused her attention back to the ice where Georgi finished his program with a grand flourish that put JJ’s previous one to shame.

“We should go out for drinks when we’re finished,” said JJ. “I think a night out would be just what the doctor ordered.”

Everyone around Mila voiced their agreement, and she began contemplating how she could get out of going with them. Of course Sara would want her to join them, but perhaps Mila could feign a headache and stay in her room without anyone asking questions. She wanted to try calling Yuri. While Georgi was receiving his critique, she opened the Instagram app to see if he’d been active recently. He usually posted several pictures each week, but he had been strangely silent since his arrival in Tokyo. Now, as of a few hours ago, Yuri had uploaded several new photos. She sat up, heart racing, and began scrolling.

The first of the series was a selfie, in true Yuri fashion, of him wearing a shirt with a tiger printed on the front. She chuckled at his broody facial expression, a staple of Yuri Plisetsky selfies. Several pictures of scenery and food followed – a beautifully-plated bowl of rice and pork, a statue of a lion with an artsy filter, a fancy cup of coffee garnished with decorative swizzle stick. Each photo was tagged with the business or landmark at which they were taken. What on Earth was making him suddenly post so many pictures?

She became increasingly confused when the pictures began to portray other people that she’d never seen before – a group selfie in front of an ice rink, two young men arm-in-arm cheesing for the camera, a goatee-sporting young man and a boy with a red streak in his hair flashing the victory sign in what appeared to be a hot spring. Who were these people?

“Is that Yuri?!” asked JJ, snatching the phone out of Mila’s hand.

“Are you kidding me?” she asked incredulously. He ignored her and scrolled through the pictures that she had just gone through.

“He sure changed,” remarked Mickey. “These are the first pictures I’ve ever seen him upload since I started following him.”

“Give me that!” snapped Mila, taking her phone back and shoving it in her pocket. “Use your own!”

“I can’t, he’s blocked me on every social media platform we’re both on,” said JJ. _Then maybe you should take a damn hint,_ thought Mila angrily.

“Here,” said Emil, handing JJ his phone. JJ immediately began scrolling again, his face falling a little more with each post he passed.

“This doesn’t seem like him,” said JJ quietly. “Why has he turned so suddenly?”

“Looks like he’s found some new friends,” said Mickey, checking Yuri’s account on his own phone. “What the hell? He snubbed us for weeks and suddenly he’s all buddy-buddy with these guys?”

“Who are they?” asked Emil.

“They’re not figure skaters,” said JJ with a haughty sniff. “Look at the group picture – they’re in hockey pads.”

“Is that what those are?” asked Emil innocently. Everyone turned their heads and stared at him for a moment, as if collectively saying, _“Are you joking right now?”_

“What did you think they were?” asked Mickey.

“I don’t know!” cried Emil with his hands up. “I don’t know much about sports!”

“I’m from Canada, I think I’d know what hockey pads look like,” said JJ, his eyes never leaving the screen. His eyes lost their usual glint and flattened into a blank, indiscernible expression.

“Hang on, I think he just added a new picture,” said Mickey. “Refresh the page.” Mila took her phone back out to see – sure enough, it was a picture of one of the hockey players on the ice. In one hand he held a hockey stick, in his other a helmet. His face was pointed downward, showing a messy black undercut not unlike JJ’s, but his dark eyes looked up at the camera, almost as if he weren’t expecting his picture to be taken. The caption on the photo read “candid shot :P #gotcha” and was tagged at a place called Ice Castle.

“I wonder who that is,” said Emil.

“I don’t like the looks of him,” said JJ venomously. “He’s bad news, I can tell just by looking at him.”

Mila raised an eyebrow at him, which JJ ignored. None of them knew who this guy was or what he was like, and here was JJ jumping to conclusions.

“Did Yuri tag him?” asked Emil.

JJ tapped the screen and a username popped up. “His name’s Otabek Altin. It’s private though, so I can’t see anything.”

 “Maybe Yuri has a boyfriend,” joked Mickey. _If only you understood how likely that is,_ thought Mila. Of all the pictures he’d been posting, this was the only one that featured one person. On top of that, he captioned it with a semi-flirty message and a tongue-out emoji. He wouldn’t do that with just anyone.

“Maybe,” parroted JJ absentmindedly. He stared at Emil’s phone for a few seconds. “Where is this Ice Castle place?”

Mickey tapped the location tag. “It’s in Hasetsu, a pretty good ways away from here.”

“When’s our next weekend off?”

Emil slowly turned his eyes toward JJ, sensing where his thought process was leading. “In a few weeks. Why?”

The glint returned to JJ’s eyes, though something seemed off about it. To Mila, it almost looked he was planning something mischievous. “I think we should pay Yuri a visit. Let him know we miss him. What do you say?”

Mila’s eyes flew wide open and she immediately opened her messaging app and sent Yuri a message:

**Mila Babicheva:** **PROBLEM!!! Yuri plz call me as soon as you get the chance**

He would have an absolute _fit_ if JJ showed up to Hasetsu unannounced. He needed to be warned, at least. If this plan ever did come to fruition, she would have to see if she could tag along to make sure nothing shady went down.

Celestino finished his critique and cleared his throat to dismiss everyone for the afternoon. “We’ll meet back tomorrow morning at the usual time,” he announced. “Be sure to clean up after yourselves when you’re finished in the locker room – we’ve gotten some complaints from the rink staff.” He shot a pointed glance at some of the young men in the group, who all looked down sheepishly. “If you plan on making any changes to your routine, please confirm it with me or one of the other coaches before next weekend. Dismissed.”

Everyone filed out of the bleachers and meandered toward the locker rooms. Mila checked her phone again even though it had only been a minute or two since she texted Yuri.

“You need to stop worrying,” said Sara. “He’s fine, just look at his Instagram.”

“You’re right,” said Mila distractedly. She put her phone away, leaving a hand on her pocket so she could feel it in case it vibrated. _Please get my message, Yuri…_


	10. Something There

Yuri paced back and forth in front of the skate rental window, occasionally poking his head out to see if he could get a better view of the ice. As it had been the last ten times he’d looked, he could only see a tiny sliver of the rink with skaters passing through his field of view. The sound of skates gliding over the ice and wooden sticks hitting the puck drove him crazy – he wanted to watch so badly, something he never would’ve admitted to.

Yuko looked up from her number crunching. “You’re so jittery today, Yurio,” she remarked. “Are you in a hurry or something?”

“Ah, no, nothing like that,” he answered. After one last peek for good measure, he went back and sat down next to the empty box that had once contained mismatched used skates. He had meticulously paired and disinfected each skate while hoping it would pass the time until the end of his shift. Unfortunately he had finished his task too quickly, leaving the longest fifteen minutes of his life at the end. He went through his mental checklist of daily tasks: in addition to pairing the skates, he’d also organized and updated the rental log, cleaned out all of the lockers, and even took it upon himself to dust everything he could think of. His leg bounced impatiently, staring at the clock on the wall and silently begging for it to move faster.

Yuko grinned. “Tell you what: you’ve done a great job today. How about I let you go a little early?”

“Really?!” Yuri sprang to his feet.

“Sure, go ahead.” Yuko could hardly get the words out before Yuri grabbed his things and bolted out the door toward the ice rink.

 _They’re still going,_ Yuri thought excitedly. The entire team had formed a line in front of the goal, taking turns shooting the puck at Yuuri, who was defending the goal. He expertly blocked almost every shot taken, flaring his legs out in a way that Yuri couldn’t comprehend. He’d never expected a hockey player to be so weirdly flexible. He made a mental note to ask Yuuri about his stretching routine.

A familiar figure skated up to the line. Even with his helmet on, Yuri recognized Otabek immediately. He lined up the puck and took his shot. It slid across the ice so quickly that Yuri thought it would break through Yuuri’s leg pads. While of course it didn’t, it did sneak right through the defense and bounce against the netting of the goal. The team cheered, and Yuri was a little surprised to catch himself clapping along with them.

“Alright, bring it in!” called Viktor. The team circled up around their captain and co-captain, congratulating one another on a good practice. “Excellent work today, men!” He shot a pointed glance at Otabek, who had been standing anxiously to the side.

“Oh, erm,” said Otabek, taking his helmet off. His messy black hair was plastered to his forehead. “Yes, you all have done very well.” The team looked at one another, sharing excited grins. “I’m proud of your progress over these last few weeks,” he continued, his tone uncertain. “Let’s, erm…let’s go get it?”

The team nodded, satisfied with his meager pep talk, and dispersed. Viktor patted Otabek on the shoulder and gave him a sympathetic glance, one that seemed to say, _“That was a good start._ ” He and Chris left the ice together to go divvy out post-practice tasks for the team. Otabek stood on the ice for a moment, a small, victorious smile on his face. He nodded to himself and made for the exit, where Yuri was waiting to greet him.

“That was a good match!” said Yuri, holding up his hand for a high-five.

Otabek frowned. “You were only here for the last thirty seconds!”

“Yeah, I know,” said Yuri, grabbing Otabek’s wrist and making his hand high-five Yuri’s own. “But that was a good last thirty seconds.”

“Eh, I’m still really rusty,” said Otabek, his frown dissipating a little as he shook Yuri’s hand, following up with a fist bump. “I’m still a little anxious with this ankle.”

After Yuri and Otabek’s morning run fiasco, Yuri had been adamant about checking in on his patient. Even though it hadn’t bruised, he still made Otabek visit the local clinic to have it looked at by a professional. The doctor had put him on rest for the remainder of the week. Even now, after being cleared to play again, he wore a Velcro brace that Yuri had gotten for him at the local drugstore.

“How is it, by the way?” asked Yuri.

“No pain today!” said Otabek victoriously. “Just gotta get over that mental block. I feel like I was making a lot of rookie mistakes today. I guess being a shitty teammate made me a shitty hockey player, huh.”

“You’re getting there,” said Yuri. “You’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”

Otabek paused thoughtfully. “You’ll be here to push me, right?” he asked quietly.

“Duh,” said Yuri a little more casually than he had intended. _Damn it, Yuri, express your feelings. Your face is getting hot. Change the subject, stupid!_ He glanced around, looking for a diversion, before landing on a familiar green bottle sitting on a nearby bench. “Hey, d’you need your water?”

Otabek looked a bit crestfallen, but quickly recovered. “Actually, could you hand me a Gatorade out of the cooler there? A blue one.”

“Sure,” said Yuri, going over to dig in the cooler. He grabbed a bottle and held it up. “This one?”

“Sorry, I meant a light blue one,” said Otabek.

Yuri raised an eyebrow. “You know the flavors have names, right?”

“Yeah, blue and light blue,” said Otabek.

Yuri swapped out the bottles and brought it over, holding it up and pointing at the label. “It’s right there. Glacier Frost.”

“Light blue is easier to remember.”

Yuri chuckled and gave him the Gatorade. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” said Otabek, cracking open the drink and taking a long swig, two light blue streams dribbling down his chin.

Yuri’s phone pinged. “Hm?” He took it out of his pocket and checked the message. “Damn, it’s Yakov. Says he just got some costume samples in that he wants me to look at.” He began texting. “Can…it…wait?” he said slowly as he typed.

“You should probably go on,” said Otabek, wiping his chin with the back of his gloved hand. “I don’t want to keep you.”

 _But I want to stay,_ thought Yuri. He had to stop himself from trying to shake the thought out of his head. “It’s not urgent.” His phone pinged again, and Yuri rolled his eyes as the read the new text from Yakov. “But according to Yakov it can’t wait. Damn it.”

 “We’ll be leaving soon,” said Otabek. “I’ll just see you back at the inn. Hot springs later?”

Yuri smiled. “Definitely. I’ll see you later!” With that, he rushed out the door, leaving Otabek to gaze after him wistfully.

Was that giggling he heard?

Otabek turned around to see the entire team crowded together at the corner of the rink, trying to hide behind each other. His face grew hot. “How long have you guys been standing there?”

“Not long,” said Phichit coolly, as if he hadn’t been eavesdropping on the once-feared team captain. “Long enough, though, Romeo.” They all got a good laugh out of that one at Otabek’s expense.

“Shut up,” muttered Otabek, gliding over to the rink entrance and putting guards on his skates.

“Aww, I think it’s nice that he’s flirting with Yurio,” said Minami. Yuuri gently covered the boy’s mouth with his hand when Otabek staggered over to the group on his skates. Everyone held their breath (minus Phichit), waiting to be berated.

“Chris, Viktor,” said Otabek. “I need your help with something.”

The two teammates looked at each other, then nodded back at their captain.

“Come with me into the locker room.”

.:.:.:.

“I have a problem,” said Otabek.

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” said Christophe.

Otabek scowled at his teammate. Viktor hushed Christophe and stepped forward. “What is it, Otabek?”

He looked down at his feet, embarrassed. “Well, you see…” He had trouble finding the words he needed. “It’s about-,”

“Yurio,” said Viktor and Christophe in unison.

“Yes, him, thank you,” said Otabek, trying to sound casual. It was hard to talk about Yuri without his heart racing and fluttering.

“I think it’s cute how nicely you two get along now,” remarked Christophe. “Like watching two little lovebirds.”

“Lovebirds in denial,” added Viktor.

“Are you two just going to prattle on? Or are you going to help me?” Otabek’s face was on fire now.

“Have you kissed him yet?” asked Christophe, ignoring him.

“What?! No!” shouted Otabek.

“Of course he hasn’t kissed him yet, Chris,” said Viktor incredulously. “They haven’t even been on a proper date yet!”

“That’s kind of what I was hoping you’d help me with!” blurted Otabek before he could stop himself. Viktor and Christophe looked at each other, then back at him. “His birthday is next week, and I want to do something special for him.”

“Awww, captain!” Viktor and Christophe threw their arms around him and cooed over how adorable he was, much to Otabek’s chagrin. He brushed the two off him after a minute or so, wishing he could just sink through the floor and disappear.

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“Oh my God, duh!” said Christophe happily. “Did you have anything in mind?”

“Well…”

“Yurio doesn’t seem like the type to go for super-traditional things like flowers or chocolates,” interrupted Viktor. Otabek’s eyes fell – clearly that had been his first idea.

“No way, we’ve got to dig deep here,” said Christophe. “We’re going to make this extra special. Now what kind of things does Yurio like?”

“Um, let’s see,” said Otabek thoughtfully, if not a little hesitantly. “Well he likes figure skating…”

“Duh.”

“He likes cats.”

“There’s a good start,” said Christophe, taking out his phone to type this into his notes app. “What else?”

“That’s where I’m getting stumped,” admitted Otabek, rubbing the back of his head. “I feel like I should be listening to him more and learning his likes and dislikes.”

“Yes, you probably should,” said Viktor, prodding Otabek’s cheek with his index finger teasingly. “But we’ve got a whole week to work on that.”

.:.:.:.

“Hang on,” said Yuri, holding his hands up. “So there can be fights in the middle of a match?” It was later that evening – Yuri and Otabek were hanging out together in Yuri’s room after dinner and a soak in the hot spring. Yuri sat cross-legged, holding a stuffed tiger in his arms, still slightly pink from his bath. His hair was twisted into a knot at the nape of his neck, courtesy of Leo.

“Yep, there aren’t any rules that say you can’t,” said Otabek, grinning when Yuri’s jaw dropped. Unlike Yuri, Otabek didn’t like to compress himself and was thus sprawled out on his side on Yuri’s futon. “It’s just kind of part of the game.”

“What happens when a fight breaks out? Do players get disqualified?”

“In some leagues it’s a five-minute penalty. Other leagues will eject players, though. The ones that don’t just heavily regulate it.”

“Like how?”

Otabek put his thumb to his chin thoughtfully. “I’m pretty sure the only rules are no weapons and no gloves. It can only be bare-knuckle. I’ve been in a _ton_ of fights, and not to brag but I win most of the time.”

Yuri crossed his arms over his tiger thoughtfully. “Man, I am in the wrong sport. I’d love to be able to fight with my competitors.”

Otabek laughed a wonderful hearty laugh that made Yuri’s heart melt a little. “I’d love to see that. What if you got into a fight with someone bigger than you?”

“I’d fight dirty,” said Yuri with a smirk. “I’d pull hair, scratch, whatever I needed to do. I’ve seen my share of catfights at figure skating competitions, and they will _mess_ you up. Especially women.” Yuri shuddered to think of the one and only time he’d ever seen Mila get in a catfight – he’d never seen someone hit the floor that hard from having their hair yanked. Coincidentally, that was the day he learned not to mess with Mila.

“There are hockey players bigger than me, I don’t know if you’d stand a chance.”

Yuri flicked a lock of his hair haughtily. “You shouldn’t underestimate me, Beka. I’m a stick of dynamite: small, but I can do big things.”

Otabek chuckled again, more contentedly. “I’ll keep that in mind, Yuri,” he said, reaching over to tickle his side. Yuri yelped and clamped his arms down to protect himself. Otabek’s touch was like electricity. Yuri desperately wanted him to touch his hand or slip and arm around his waist just for that exhilarating feeling.

“So, I guess you liked that I called you Beka?”

Otabek tensed. “How do you figure?” As if he needed to ask.

“You blushed a little when I called you that,” said Yuri playfully, ruffling Otabek’s perpetually-messy, still-wet hair.

“So what if I did?” huffed Otabek, crossing his arms. _God he’s cute when he’s embarrassed,_ thought Yuri.

“That settles it! It’s your official nickname!” Yuri pounced on him, returning Otabek’s declaration of war and mercilessly tickling him back. He’d expected some squirming, maybe muted giggling - what Yuri wasn’t expecting was the loud, squeaking cackle that erupted from the mighty captain’s mouth.

“Yuri, s-stop!”

“No way, this is payback!” Yuri’s smile grew as he gritted his teeth. Perhaps he was over-reciprocating, but he was having fun. More importantly, Otabek seemed to be having fun too, his merry laughter ringing throughout the room.

“No fair!”

“Man, if only the rest of your team could see this,” chuckled Yuri, unrelenting in his attack. “No one would ever be scared of you again.”

“Don’t you dare!” cried Otabek between giggles. After a few moments, Yuri decided that he’d had enough and backed off, leaving him curled up and gasping for air.

“Sorry Beka, I had to,” said Yuri apologetically. “You did start it, though.”

Otabek caught his breath and gave Yuri a sheepish grin. “Yeah, I guess I had that coming, didn’t I?”

Yuri glanced over at his phone, which was displaying a new notification from Mila. Yet another text message asking him to call her. _I’m busy, woman,_ he thought. To placate her, he sent a text back saying that everything was fine and that he was a little preoccupied at the moment. _Can’t have her salting my game._

“So if I have a nickname, does that mean you need one too?” asked Otabek.

 _Yes, more than anything_. “I dunno, do you want me to have one?”

“Yeah,” said Otabek. “I mean, I know you’re already Yurio to the rest of the team…”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” said Yuri, rubbing his temples. He’d never forgive Leo for that one.

“Yeah, I didn’t think you liked it much,” said Otabek. “But plain Yuri is a little confusing, since I’ve known goalie Yuuri for a while now.”

Yuri hummed thoughtfully. Now that he mentioned it, Yuri did realize that Otabek has never called him by that god-awful name. “Did you have anything in mind?”

“Well…” Otabek rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed. “I’ve sorta been calling you ‘Yura’ in my head for a while now…”

Yuri let the name rattle around in his head. “Hm, Yura…” It felt right on his lips, and it felt even more right coming out of Otabek’s mouth. “It has a nice ring to it.”

“Yura it is, then,” said Otabek. A handshake sealed the deal. The two sat in silence for a few moments, enjoying each other’s company while mindlessly zoning out. Otabek took out his phone and starting scrolling through Instagram, while Yuri checked his own phone to see another notification from Mila. He frowned and dismissed the notification without paying much mind to what it said. He turned off his phone, knowing she would probably blow it up if he didn’t. There would be plenty of time to deal with her later, when he wasn’t with Otabek.

“I like this picture of you,” said Otabek, turning his wrist so Yuri could see. Viktor had posted a picture of Japanese Yuuri and Russian Yuri together on the ice. He had captioned it with, “When worlds collide,” and featured an exorbitant amount of emojis and hashtags that hardly felt related to the picture. “I know Yuuri isn’t that much bigger than you, but he looks gigantic with all those pads on. Meanwhile here’s little Yura with his yoga pants and his teeny skates.”

“Don’t tease!” said Yuri playfully. “Yoga pants are the most practical thing a figure skater can wear! Plus they’re comfy.”

“Maybe I should start wearing them. What do you think?” Otabek stood up and struck a dramatic pose, sticking his butt out with one hand on his hip. “Could I pull them off?”

“Oh, without a doubt!” laughed Yuri. “You’ll win every match if you start playing hockey in them. The other team will be laughing too hard to play!”

Otabek did a clumsy catwalk turn and sat back down, the two of them sharing another laugh. “This is nice,” he said. “You know something? I never would’ve pictured myself enjoying the company of a figure skater this much.”

It was Yuri’s turn to blush again. “Likewise,” he answered.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Otabek didn’t wait for Yuri to reply, speaking so quickly that he almost couldn’t get his words out. “Your birthday is coming up and I wanted to take you somewhere for it. What do you think?”

Yuri got a fluttery feeling in his chest. “You want to take me out for my birthday?”

“Yeah,” said Otabek after a deep breath. “Maybe we can go out for dinner or something, or see a movie. Or both. Whatever you want to do.”

“That sounds…nice,” said Yuri decidedly. “I would love to.”

Otabek sighed, immense relief washing over him. “Great. Is there anywhere you wanted to go in particular?”

“I dunno,” said Yuri bashfully. “I still don’t know a whole lot about the area.”

“That’s okay!” said Otabek hurriedly, almost nervously. “I’ll plan everything, you won’t have to lift a finger. I’ll make sure it’s something you’ll like, I promise.”

“If you insist,” said Yuri.

“Okay great!” Otabek looked at his watchless wrist. “Oh look at the time, I’ve got to get going. Early practice and whatnot. I’ll text you with the details tomorrow!” With that, he hurried out of Yuri’s room as if he were late for something. Yuri sat for a moment, taken aback by the suddenness of his exit.

 _I guess hockey players get nervous sometimes too,_ he mused. _It’s amazing how much he’s changed in a short amount of time. There ended up being so much more to him than just the mean hockey player I met a few months ago._  He smiled serenely to himself, hugging his stuffed tiger tightly to his chest. He had just been invited to what he hoped would be his very first date. He jumped up from his futon and immediately began scouring his wardrobe for something suitable to wear, giddiness overtaking him. After all, he was going on his first date!


End file.
